


Dearly Departed

by Queerbutstillhere



Series: Damian Wayne and Jonathan Kent [13]
Category: DCU (Comics), Super Sons (Comics)
Genre: 17/14 at the start, 20/21 in the later chapters, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Feels, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Character Revival, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, I'm sorry but also I'm not, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Tags will update as I update the story, but it's not ship oriented at the beginning, childhood crushes, damijon but not exactly, minor alcohol reference, minor marijuana reference, most of this, not shippy for like, there's a reason it's tagged for major character death, this is just pure angst for the first few chapters, you'll find out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:34:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25036315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queerbutstillhere/pseuds/Queerbutstillhere
Summary: In their line of work, Damian should have expected this. He should have known, that not even the Son of Steel would be safe. He should have been prepared. He shouldn't have let himself get so attached.But he did. And now he was losing one of the most important things to him, and who's fault is that?Damian didn't expect to lose his best friend at so young. He didn't even expect to have a best friend. But now he'd do anything to get him back.He might even get that wish, in the end.
Relationships: Jonathan Samuel Kent/Damian Wayne
Series: Damian Wayne and Jonathan Kent [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1525499
Comments: 69
Kudos: 156





	1. Here Before We're None

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Frens and Folks!
> 
> This story is gonna be one wild ride. It's going to be BIG OOF for the first few chapters, but hang in there and I promise it'll be worth your time :)
> 
> Enjoy!

"Superboy! Look out!"

Damian felt panic bubbling through him faster than the blood roaring in his ears. This wasn't happening. No. He refused-

But it was happening. He was watching Jon crumple to the ground, a dagger of Kryptonite plunged through his chest.

Jon crumpled nearly instantly, and Damian had started running before he'd even fully fell, slipping on oil and water and something significantly redder as a blue blur shot past him, slamming into Jon’s attacker. But he didn't stop running for a second until he had made it to Jon's side, dropping to his knees and quickly grabbing at the Kryptonite.

"Dames, Dami," Jon gasped out, writhing slightly, tears gathering in his eyes as he grabbed at Damian's arms while he started pulling apart Jon's already torn uniform to get a better look at the injury.

"Shh, I'm here, it's okay, I'm here,” Damian forced out, past the panic gathering as bile in his throat.

The wound was surprisingly clean, but the kryptonite was likely burning the skin it was touching, cauterizing it, in it's own deadly way. But it was bad, Damian knew that. He didn't know exact Kryptonian anatomy, but he knew this blade was painfully close to Jon's heart. He knew how much pain Jon was in.

Damian didn't pay attention to the battle behind him. Didn't pay attention to Bruce and Clark absolutely decimating the man who had killed Jon.

He had killed Damian's best friend.

He knew it.

The Kryptonite was too far in, too close to his heart.

It was a sure death.

"Jon," Damian looked down at him, and from the pained grimace, he knew Jon knew.

"You'll keep an eye on mom and dad for me?" He gasped out, clearly choking on his own blood as it bubbled back out of his mouth, voice pitching with pain and fear.

"Of course, whatever you want. Just don’t give up yet, Jon,” Damian begged, brushing Jon’s hair out of his face, accidentally leaving streaks of blood on his forehead.

"And, Kon-" Jon continued as if Damian’s last sentence hadn’t registered.

Damian nodded blindly, moving and pulling Jon into his lap carefully, cradling his best friend, closing his eyes as he felt tears threaten to well up. Jon almost relaxed into him, except that he was still twitching as he fought for air, coughing slightly as well.

"Dami. Dami, please, don't. . . Don't- please be happy," Jon begged, words slurring slightly.

"Jon, you're dying," Damian hissed out, anger spiking through him. How could Jon be so naive?

"I know that, but don't stay sad, please."

Damian just shook his head, whether in refusal or bitter amusement, he himself didn’t know. Jon coughed, squeezing his arm tightly, drawing his attention again. Jon looked sad, and Damian felt something in him cracking.

"Can I talk to dad, please?"

"I'd have to take the Kryptonite out."

"Please."

Damian looked up and around, finding Clark nervously hovering a few feet away, looking sick.

"I'm going to take this out, he wants to talk to you, but I don't know how long he'll have."

"Okay," Clark said, nodding in understanding.

Damian firmly and carefully yanked out the metal. It slid out of Jon’s chest without struggle, but the teen let out a pained keening noise, back arching, hands clenching in Damian’s uniform. The moment it was out, Bruce was yanking it out of Damian's hand, and quickly retreating, nearly as quickly as Clark approached.

Damian tried not to listen as the two whispered back and forth, Clark crying as he squeezed his son's hand, but it was hard to not catch snippets. Jon apologizing, Clark murmuring soft reassurances, empty promises to comfort his son in his final moments.

And Damian. . . Damian felt nothing.

Literally nothing. His body had gone numb and he was just staring at his best friend dying and felt fucking nothing. It was like he was outside of his body, observing these events with no direct emotional attachment to them. Like he was watching a TV show, just characters whose deaths held no real life consequences. Instead of being upset, he felt something like morbid interest.

"Dami."

It occurred to him suddenly that Clark had pulled back and Jon was reaching up, putting a blood streaked hand on Damian's cheek, pulling him back into his body, and his focus down on the teen in his lap, blood staining his pink lips and white teeth.

"Thank you," he murmured, offering a sad smile.

Then his hand fell, he took one last breath and his head lolled to one side, eyes still open.

And Damian still felt nothing but numbness.

But he didn't let go.

He just squeezed Jon's body tight to him, feeling just as lifeless himself as tears started slipping out from behind his mask.

His body was reacting.

But he felt nothing.

That is until Clark tried to take Jon away from him.

"No, nononono, please, no," Damian muttered, shaking his head desperately, his vision going blurry until all he could see was a big blue blob that was Clark.

"Damian," Clark's voice was as broken as Damian felt.

It was like everything inside him had shattered, his heart, his soul, everything. The pain in his chest was vibrant and red and burning. He couldn't breath, gasping for air that wasn’t filling his lungs, he couldn't move, his body cold, unable to even fully register feeling in it, he couldn't think, nothing but ‘oh god’ running through his mind. It felt like he was being suffocated with a wet blanket, tears and snot running down his face inelegantly. And then he screamed. He screamed so loud it hurt his own ears, hurt his throat, and made him breathless, burying his face into Jon's hair and just letting out broken wails and sobs that shook his whole body.

Jon was gone. He was really gone. He was dead and Damian had been powerless to save him.

Someone's arms were around him, he didn't know who's, but they were big and strong and they just held onto him. Held onto him and Jon, and Damian let them. He let them hold him upright, as he was bent over Jon’s body, tears falling onto Jon’s hair, down his face, causing streaks in the lines of blood on his skin.

And then someone was taking Jon from him and he cried out in protest, desperately gripping at the Superboy's body. He wouldn’t let go, he had to protect Jon. _He had promised_.

"Robin. It's time to let go," his father's voice murmured, to his right.

Damian looked up at Bruce, barely able to see him through the tears, his form just a dark black blob. A gentle hand rested on his shoulder. Damian looked down at Jon one last time and then let Clark pull him away, even as he longed to hold Jon just a little longer, because as long as Jon was in his arms, he wasn’t truly gone yet.

Bruce was immediately pulling Damian to him, and he didn't resist, just curled up into Bruce's chest and silently cried. Bruce scooped him up like he was still a child and started walking away. Damian lifted his head just enough to look over Bruce's shoulder to see Clark wrapping his cape around Jon and then picking the boy’s body up before taking off into the air.

And Damian let out another sob before pressing his face to Bruce's shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut, anguish and anger washing over him in equal measures. He didn’t want to believe it. Surely they could still save Jon, no? Surely . . . Surely he wasn’t gone. How could they have let this happen? How could that low-life villain done this? Why would Clark have let this happen? Why had Damian let this happen? Why hadn’t he saved Jon? Why was Jon gone? 

He faintly remembered being set down in the Batcar, and then he was slipping into the darkness of sleep, despite not being tired.

  
  
  
  
  


The next morning he woke up curled against a large warm body. And for a moment everything was okay. He just laid there and stared at the wall.

And then he remembered.

He felt his eyes tearing up, but he made no sound or noise, just blinked away the tears and tried to focus on something else. Like where the hell was he.

At 17, it wasn't like he was terribly small, sure he wasn't as large as Todd or Father, but he was still bigger than Grayson and Drake, but whoever was protectively holding him was larger than him. He finally squirmed a bit, enough to be able to turn and look, only to awaken the person.

"Wha? Oh. Demon, you're awake."

"Jason?!" Damian exclaimed, thoroughly surprised.

Grayson or Father he expected. Todd was . . . Very much a surprise.

"What are you doing here?" Damian hissed.

"Well, Tim and I get in from patrol, and Bruce tells us what happened. Tim immediately flies off to go find Conner, and as I was coming upstairs for bed, I heard you crying in your sleep."

"And you thought you had any right to come into my room?!" Damian snapped.

"No. I knocked to check up on you, and you wanted me to stay. Or at least that's how I interpreted the sobs."

Damian scowled at him. "I don't recall this."

"Well. That's your problem."

They held eye contact for a moment, then Jason's face softened.

"Do you want to tal-"

"No."

Damian pushed out of his bed, standing and pointing at the door.

"Out."

Jason just raised an eyebrow and when Damian pointed again and took a half step forwards, he pulled off the blankets and started standing. Then he walked around the bed and stopped in front of Damian, ducking his head a bit to meet Damian's eyes.

"It's okay to cry," he said gently, face soft, caring.

And Damian hated it.

"Get. Out."

Jason just shook his head slightly. But he straightened and reached out, squeezing Damian's shoulders once before turning and walking towards the door. He stopped and turned back to Damian, as he stood in the doorway.

"When you need my help. I'll be there," he promised, and turned and walked out, shutting the door behind him.

Damian just stared after him, silent rage boiling through him. Todd dared to assume he needed comforted like a child? He wasn’t fragile, he knew how to handle himself, he knew how to grief someone. He’d done it dozens of times before.

Except half of those times, the people didn’t stay gone.

Jon was gone.

Why was he gone? Why? He’s not allowed to leave, Damian needed him. He couldn’t leave Damian. 

Rage and grief mixed into one and boiled over and hit Damian in this dark cloud that had him staggering.

Was Jon really gone?

No. He wasn’t. Damian must have just dreamed that, he couldn’t be gone. Damian had nightmares all the time, this was standard, hell this wasn’t even the first time he’d dreamt of Jon dying. That’s it. It was just a dream. Damian turned and snatched up his phone, intending to text Jon and tell him about his insane dream.

Jon would want to hear about it. 

Instead, he unlocked the device and found dozens of missed calls and sympathy texts from friends and family and it was like a gut punch. It was like the universe hitting him and reminding him that no, Jon was really gone. He had held his dying body. And there was that wave of grief again, this time actually knocking Damian down. He sunk to the floor, staring at the wall. He felt oddly numb, even as tears started filling his eyes, making his vision blurry. But compared to the previous day, he didn’t make a noise, just sat there and silently cried, even as his chest ached and his head started pounding, reminding him over and over again that his best friend was gone, and he hadn’t saved him.

He wasn’t sure how much time passed, with him sitting there on the floor, but eventually, he heard voices outside his door. He lifted his head from where it had ended up against his knees, and looked towards the door, noting faintly that he had stopped crying. He couldn’t quite make out the speakers or the words being said, but he knew what they were likely talking about. 

Damian reached up and rubbed his eyes, before starting to stand, feeling a little shaky, but mostly just . . . numb. Everything felt numb. He felt detached, not in full control of his own body. But he just walked over to his dresser, pulling out the first t-shirt he saw and yanked it over his head before walking to the door and pulling it open. The speakers outside, who ended up being Alfred and Dick, both immediately went silent when the door opened.

“Dami-”

“No,” Damian grumbled, his throat closed up and thick, voice deeper and just . . . off.

“Master Damian,” Alfred murmured softly.

“Just. . . don’t.”

Damian pushed past them, or rather, he pushed past Dick, and headed for the stairs. He slowly walked down them, every step feeling like he was walking with gravity boots on. Once in the kitchen, he started the electric kettle, then started to fill a steeper with his favorite blend of tea. He found himself glaring through the kitchen window, the tea kettle screaming behind him as it angrily boiled. How much time had passed?

With his tea steeping, he looked inside the fridge, then the cabinet, then the fridge again and then the pantry. He knew, logically, that he needed to eat, but even the thought of food made his stomach roll. He eventually gave up, took his tea and headed away, hoping to find someplace secluded from his family. The living room was often empty, especially at this time of day, as if eleven am is early, but when he entered there, he found Cassandra sitting on the sofa, Alfred’s head in her lap. Damian hesitated, staring at her. Then he walked over and curled up in the armchair, grabbing a book he had been reading and setting it in his lap.

He didn’t read it.

He turned the page, his eyes scanned along the lines like he was understanding the text there, but the words mean nothing to him. It was as good as reading Kryptonese. It was just symbols on a page.

He looked up and made eye contact with Cassandra and she just raised an eyebrow.

“Your tea is cold,” she remarked, motioning at the untouched beverage.

“How long have we been sitting here?” he asked, the words tumbling out of him before he could think about them.

“Thirty minutes.”

Fuck, what was wrong with him!? 

The rest of the day, he skillfully avoided his family, darting between his room, the bathroom, and the kitchen in times he knew they would be absent from those locations. On the rare occasions he did have to interact with them, they treated him like cracked glass, ready to shatter at any moment, and he hated it.

He didn’t do much, just laid in bed, petting his cat or staring at the ceiling. He slept a lot, dozing off and waking up five minutes, or twenty minutes or two hours later and feeling like he was trapped, a weight on his chest, unable to breathe properly. Sometimes he woke up with wet cheeks. Sometimes he dreamed, and every time, it was heart wrenching dreams about Jon, about his best friend's smile and his laugh and god Damian wanted him back.

Then slowly, the rage started setting in.

Damian was familiar with anger. He was familiar with all types of rage, including the pit rage. But this. This was nothing he had truly experienced before. It was blinding rage, bone deep, only building in intensity as the day went on. It was like a fire, being fueled by his grief and the growing pit in his stomach.

Jon's killer was still alive, and he didn't deserve that.

If Jon was dead, why should his murderer get to live?

Damian knew just how to get past his father. He knew how to get down to the cave and get his undercover uniform without being seen. He knew how to get out, and he knew how to get to Gotham General where the wannabe supervillain was recovering from bad breaks and burns. And he knew who to call to help him.

His body moved of its own accord, his heart pounding in his ears, as he slipped downstairs. He easily snuck through, avoiding sensor cameras and anything else that would alert Bruce that he was down here. He had no doubt he would be sent back upstairs, had he been caught. Damian quietly shut the door to the storage room behind him, going over to an old tote, pulling it off the metal shelf and popping it open, rummaging around until he found the object of his search.

Blackbird was his undercover alter ego he had used for a few months while working a mission that couldn't be tied back to Batman. The suit was nearly solid black, but in some lighting held a bluish sheen to it. He easily slipped it on, pressing the gray domino mask over his face, then hooking the gray utility belt around his hips, followed by the batons that clipped onto his back. He had chosen to use them instead of his katana, since anyone with three brain cells would recognize his fighting style to be the same as Robin's.

Except this time, he slipped a dagger into his boots, then exited the storage room, grabbing one of the stealth comms from the vault. Naturally, his bike would be tracked, Bruce wouldn't trust him to go out, but Drake wasn't in town. . . 

Before anyone could stop him, Damian was tearing out of the batcave, calling Jason as he drove.

"Yello?"

"Todd. You promised your assistance. I require it."

"Hospital?"

"I'm on my way now."

"Meet me on the roof."

The line went dead, and Damian switched it off so he couldn't be tracked. He drove to the hospital, easily dodging cars and staying out of view in his dark outfit. He reached the hospital and parked in a nearby alley before grappling up to the helipad, pacing back and forth.

Why the hell should Kent's killer be allowed to live? He shouldn't, that's the answer. Jon was so pure and kind. He cared so much about people and had so much potential, and yet at 14, just like that, his life was taken from him. He was taken from Damian. It wasn't fucking fair. And Damian was going to fix that.

"So. You're sure you want to do this?"

Damian whirled around and found Jason standing on the edge of the roof, retracting his grapple.

"He doesn't deserve to live, Todd," Damian spat out, taking a step closer.

Jason held up a hand in mock surrender, clipping the grapple gun back to his belt, then walking over, he reached up and took off his helmet, then tilted his head.

"Have you eaten today?"

"Todd. I did not ask you here to mother me."

"No. You asked me here to help you murder a man."

Damian glared heavily at him. Jason walked right up until they were just two steps apart.

"Damian. This is not going to bring him back. Jon is gone. He's dead. He's not coming back. Killing this guy is not going to do anything for anyone."

"Bullshit! He killed Jon! Why does he deserve to live!"

"He's not getting off easy, Damian. He's barely hanging on right now, Clark and Bruce nearly killed him themselves. He's going to spend a long time in the hospital, and then he's going to the League prison. He's not getting out. Not for murdering Superboy."

Damian shook his head, stepping into Jason's space.

"Why the _fuck_ does he get to live and Jon doesn't?"

"Because bad shit happens."

"Bullshit!" Damian screamed in Jason's face.

And Jason didn't blink, just moved on. "Do you think this is going to fix shit?! Do you really think this is going to help?! You spent your _whole childhood_ killing and maiming people, Damian! You know how this feels! You know how hard it is to come back from that! Do you really want to go back down that path?!"

" _He deserves to die!"_ Damian screeched.

"Then go! Go do it! What the hell is stopping you, brat?! I'm sure as hell not! You wanna go murder a guy, go! I'll cover your ass! But if you're going to kill him." Jason grabbed what little grip there was in Damian's armor, holding him close. "Then go and do it like a man, don't be a fucking pussy."

Damian stared at Jason, who's expression was unreadable. And he felt . . . Shocked?

"You're?" He said softly. "You're just going to let me?"

"Pft, yeah, god knows I'm not the one to judge here. So go! Do it! He's on the third floor, the window right across from the hospital sign." Jason shoved him towards the edge. "What are you waiting for? Go!"

"Get off!" Damian whirled and swung at Jason, who blocked the hit easily.

And then Damian was punching and kicking at his brother, who either deflected each hit or took it with nothing more than a grunt. They fought across the roof, and he wasn't sure at what point, but tears started flooding his vision, making it hard for him to really focus. Then Jason had his arm and was spinning and Damian was soaring through the air before hitting the cement roof hard, gasping as the air was knocked out of him. Jason was very quickly on top of him, pinning him down. Damian screamed at him in arabic, beating at Jason's arms and chest inelegantly. And then he was sobbing, head falling back on the ground.

"Please, Jason-" Damian hiccuped out, slipping back into English without realizing it.

"I know you're angry, but killing people isn't going to help anyone," Jason murmured softly, grabbing Damian's hands to stop him from beating weakly at his chest. "It's only going to make things worse, and you know it. What is it Harley says? Revenge rarely brings the-"

"Catharsis we desire," Damian sighed out, tilting his face up to look at the black clouds of Gotham.

He knew it.

"It's not fucking fair," he whispered.

Jason slid off of him, and then grabbed him, tugging him over into a hug.

"I know, and I'm sorry. I know what you're going to go through. I know what it feels like, and I wish I could help. But I can't, Bruce can't, Dick can't. No one can help. It's going to fucking hurt, and you need to let it hurt, okay? Don't . . . Don't be like the old man. Let it out."

Damian squeezed his eyes shut and curled into his brother, accepting the comfort, and accepting the words in silence.

It wasn't fair.

Why Jon?

Why?

Damian cried softly, his tears dislodging the mask, but he didn't care. He didn't even care that Jason was holding him like he was a child, gently stroking his hair, rocking him slightly.

His anger wasn't gone. It was still there, bubbling in his stomach like an angry pot of water. But it was . . . Subdued for now, choked out by reason and tears.

"Bats? Yeah. I got him. . . Hospital. You were right."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry if I made you cry-


	2. And Then There Were None

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made my Beta cry with this chapter so have fun

The funeral was almost a week later, in Metropolis. And Damian didn’t want to go.

Of course he was  _ going  _ to go. But that doesn’t mean he  _ wants _ to go. He didn’t want to go and sit through the funeral. He didn’t want to watch dozens of people who could  _ never  _ really know Jon cry and pretend that they cared. He didn’t want to watch fake people with their fake tears and their fake sympathy. No one would ever know Jon like he did, not even Clark and Lois. Damian had helped Jon develop most of his powers. Damian had been with him through so much. Hell, not that anyone would ever know, but Jon had been his first kiss, and he had been Jon’s. Nothing had come of it, except some awkwardness. But no one could ever have been as close with Jon as he had been.

He didn’t want to go.

He hadn’t really left his room since he was sent up here by Bruce, after the night he had snuck out to kill Fredericks, Jon’s murderer. He hadn’t done it, it in the end. Jason had ended up bringing him back, tossing him in amongst the wolves named Dick and Bruce. After a nice hefty lecture mixed with sympathy and grief from both men, Damian had been sent to his room, and found Alfred waiting with a hot cup of chamomile tea. Alfred hadn’t tried to get him to talk, unlike Bruce and Dick. He had just sat there next to Damian in silence, making sure he drank the tea. Then he had gently ushered Damian to bed, tucked him in like he was a child, Alfred the Cat curled up on his chest, and slipped out the door, flicking the lights off behind him. He hadn’t fallen asleep, but instead just laid there, staring at the ceiling, gently petting his cat.

He hadn’t left since then, except to go work out or occasionally wander the halls late at night while everyone, or almost everyone, was gone. There was always someone left behind in the manor to watch him these days. He didn’t care. He couldn’t care about anything.

He didn’t eat, he was constantly sleeping, but never well. Sometimes he had these delusions, dreams of Jon. Dreams or memories, he couldn’t remember, sometimes he could tell because they ended horribly, and he had very few memories with Jon that ended that badly. By the Friday of the funeral, he was starving, only still alive because Alfred made him eat at least one meal a day, and he occasionally forgot Jon was gone. He’d get a text or something of the sort and his heart would leap a bit because ‘yes, that must be Jon!’. And then he’d remember, a gut punch of grief and sickness that knocked him off balance for a while.

They went down on Thursday night. Just him, Alfred, and Bruce. Tim was already with Kon, and Dick and Jason had volunteered to stay home and watch Gotham for them while they were gone.

The drive was silent for a long time, suits hung up by the doors, bags in the trunk. Then Bruce twisted around in his seat to look back at Damian, who had been blankly staring out the door.

“Damian.”

He barely pulled his gaze away from the farm land that was rushing past, not even turning his head, just looking at Bruce.

“You don’t have to stay for the ceremony if you don’t want to,” Bruce told him softly.

Damian just looked away again.

He wasn’t going to. His Jon wouldn’t be in that casket. His Jon, his Superboy, wouldn’t be buried in the dirt like that. He was off in the stars, flying free and happy. 

The moment they pulled onto the farm, it felt empty. It felt dark and gloomy, despite the cheery weather. It felt wrong. The Kent farm had always felt happy and full. It had felt safe and like Damian’s second home. But this. . . This was all sorts of wrong.

Damian forced himself out of the car, his body moving on autopilot as he helped pull out their bags, carrying it to the front door, which was already open, Lois standing in it, watching them.

“Damian,” she breathed out, eyes red, face puffy.

The hell she must be going through.

Damian allowed her to pull him into a hug, arms wrapped tightly around him. He just gently put his arms around her own and offered his silent comfort to the shorter woman. They stood there for a few minutes before she pulled away, reaching up to rub her eyes, then turn to Bruce, accepting his hug immediately. He murmured something softly to her that started her crying. Then she was stepping back and Clark was in the room, solemn but courteous, showing them to the guest rooms.

After dinner that night, Damian found himself wandering into Jon’s room, untouched from how Jon must have left it. He had spent so much time in this room alone. Weeks worth of his childhood sat on that bed with Jon, watching dumb movies or tv shows on Damian’s laptop. He remembered sneaking in through Jon’s window, the two of them giggling and laughing as if they were kids sneaking back home from a party and not two kids sneaking back in from a weekend of dangerous vigilante work. He remembered falling asleep in Jon’s bed, the two of them so exhausted that personal boundaries didn’t matter, or maybe Damian just didn’t care anymore, Jon’s arm on his stomach, legs tangled together. He remembered sneaking away from their families during barbecues or parties and coming up here and playing games or just laying around and talking.

He remembered the burn in his chest and the spike in his serotonin every time he was around Jon. 

These memories hit him like hot water and he stepped back, sitting on Jon’s bed, drowning in them, his chest heavy and his head throbbing. It didn’t take long before he was laying down, one of Jon’s pillows squeezed to his chest, breathing in the lingering smell of his best friend, letting the scent of his shampoo and warm sunshine comfort him. He let it make him forget that Jon was gone, and for a few minutes, everything was okay, and Jon was just off saving the world.

_ “Your nose scrunches funny.” _

_ “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know there was a proper way to scrunch one's nose.” _

_ “Butthead! I was meaning when you made that face. Your face scrunched funny.” _

_ Damian snorted, looking up at Jon, who was hovering just to his left, feeling himself smile fondly.  _

_ “I didn’t make a face.” _

_ “Yes you did. You made a ‘you’re being stupid again’ face.” _

_ “I did not.” _

_ “You did too!” _

_ Damian rolled his eyes as Jon poked at his sides, trying to get a reaction from him. He grabbed the Superboy by the waist, pushing him against the edge of the roof they were stood on and started tickling him. Jon, even at 13 was still highly ticklish. He started squealing and thrashing, trying to get away from the older teen. _

_ “Stop! Stop, Dami, Please!” _

_ Damian, as requested, stopped the tickling, but did not let go of Jon, grinning evilly as he kept him pinned against the wall. _

_ “Oh no-” Jon breathed, getting less then a second of free air before Damian started tickling again, causing him to squeal even louder, pushing Damian off and tumbling back off the roof. _

_ Damian just laughed as he watched him fall. _

Where had these tears come from?

Damian pulled Jon's pillow up closer to his face, using it to mask his soft sobs until they died in his throat and he was staring across the room at the Justice League poster on the wall. Fuck the Justice League. What had they been able to do? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Damian got up after another moment, wiping his eyes with his shirt sleeves and looking around the room. There were things he recognized as Jon's favorite knick knacks or favorite books or favorite shirts. There were things that Damian recognized as things he had gotten Jon, whether it was Christmas presents or birthday presents or just little surprise gifts. He had put so much energy into his relationship with Jon, but still adamantly denied how close they were.

And he'd never get to tell Jon how much he truly cared.

At some point, Jon's dumb superboy merch hoodie that Kon had gotten him as a joke ended up on his body, and he picked up a framed photo of them, from a few years back, at the Hamilton county fair. He sat on the bed, looking at their past selves.

"How young and innocent we were, Jon," Damian murmured out loud, finger gliding over the picture without touching the glass.

They were 15 and 12 in this photo, Jon was wearing his blocky glasses like always, his Hamilton Hustlers hat turned backwards for the photo. He had been wearing a hoodie and ripped, dirty farm jeans, as well as the most beat up pair of Converse Damian had ever laid eyes on. He had ended up buying Jon new Converse by Friday. Damian, in the picture, was dressed awfully casual for him, a sweater and dark jeans, a nice jacket abandoned in the Kent's car. In the picture, Jon was grinning brightly, and Damian was clearly fighting back an equally large smile, Jon's arm around Damian's shoulders, pulling him in close.

If only Damian had known. If only he had treasured every moment a little more when he still had Jon. . .

He ended up dozing off in Jon's bed, wrapped up in his blankets, surrounded by comforting, familiar things, each one tinged with sadness and pain. He didn't wake up until he heard the floorboards in the hall squeaking, and then the door started to swing open, and he was instantly awake, sitting up in bed.

"Oh! Damian!"

Damian blinked blearily at the figure in the doorway, eyes not focusing. It took a moment then he recognized Lois standing there, frozen like a deer in the headlights.

“Ms. Lane,” he murmured, his already fairly deep voice lowered from his interrupted sleep.

“Am I-” she took a half a step back, and Damian shook his head, waving her over. 

Lois cautiously crossed the floor, like it was booby trapped or something, and came and sat beside him. Damian shuffled, pulling his feet out from under the blankets and swinging them over the side, just sitting there in silence.

“It just doesn’t seem real, does it?” Lois whispered after a moment.

Damian glanced over at her, but she didn’t need prompting, just continued rambling.

“I wake up in the morning and come down to fix him and Clark breakfast, or walk past his room and see all the clutter and think that I need to scold him for having such a messy room. Or Clark will go out as Superman, and I’ll sit up waiting for them to get back so I can make sure Jon is alright. And then Clark gets back and it hits me . . .”

“And it’s like claws tearing through your heart?”

Lois looked over at him, nodding, with a shocked look on her face.

“Exactly.”

Damian nodded slightly and looked away from her, down at the floor.

“Damian. . . I know you two were close-”

“Lois, please,” he breathed out.

“Right. Sorry. I just . . . “

Then she reached over and gently put her hand on his arm. Damian’s first instinct was to shrug it off, but something stopped him. Maybe it was his promise to Jon, maybe it was that he actually cared about Lois, who knows. But he reached up and took her hand, squeezing it gently. She squeezed his in return, but stayed quiet, other than a soft sniff.

“I also forget, sometimes,” he told her softly. “I think about calling him, or what I’ll tell him when he comes over next. Or I’ll see something he’d like, a picture of something, and start to send it to him and get half-way through drafting the text when I remember.”

“I don’t know what to do without him.”

Damian had no wise words to offer here, just silently squeezed her hand in return. He had no words to offer, because he was dealing with the exact same issue. How does one live in a world when a person like Jonathan Samuel Kent is ripped from your life. How does your world keep spinning when the sun has been extinguished.

“Damian, if you’d like to take anything. . . I know he’d want you to have it, whatever it is.”

Damian looked up again, as she stood, pulling her hand from his. They looked at each other for a moment.

“Lois, I-” Damian’s throat closed up and he clenched his jaw. “I’m s-”

“Damian. It’s not your fault-”

“I was supposed to protect him, he’s my partner!” Damian protested. “I shouldn’t have left him unprotected like that.”

“Damian.”

“He trusted me and I let him down! I failed him!”

Lois’ hands lifted towards his face, and Damian flinched away, expecting a blow, a remnant of his childhood. A failure like this deserved punishment, or even torture. Later, he might feel bad for expecting Lois, sweet kind Lois to hit him, but at the moment it seemed logical that she would do so. After all, he had allowed her son to be murdered. Why wouldn’t she hit him for that? He deserved it.

Instead she gently cupped his face with her hands, bending and lightly kissing his head.

“It’s not your fault, Damian,” she murmured softly, sounding sad.

Damian didn’t respond. She pulled away enough to look him in the eyes for a moment, then let her hands drop and took a step back, before turning and walking out, closing the door behind her. Damian just stared at the oak slab and didn’t move for a few minutes. When he did, he just reached down to the floor and picked up Jon’s laptop, setting it on the bed beside him and easily logging in. It wasn’t like he didn’t know the teens password. Jon had told him, and even if he hadn’t, Damian would have figured it out fairly easily.

Damian didn’t delve into any personal files, just clicked right into the images file, slowly starting to flick through, seeing dozens of photos of Jon and his friends, watching the teen grow and change before his eyes as the photos went by, how he had sprung up like a twig, taller then Damian for most of the time they knew each other, and only an inch or two shorter at his death. There weren’t that many photos of just the two of them, and that was mostly due to Damian. He didn’t like photos. Plus most of the time they spent together was in costume. He got up and found a USB cord after a moment and plugged his phone in, copying a bunch of the photos to his phone, before locking Jon’s laptop and setting it back on the floor. Then he got up, crossed the room and turned off the light, pulling open the door and turning to the empty room behind him.

“Jon, I-” he murmured softly, then shook his head and walked out, closing the door behind him.  
  


The next morning, he stayed for about three minutes of the funeral before slipping out, having picked seats near the back for this express purpose. He disappeared into the bathroom and hid there for a good portion of the service, then snuck out and sat on the front step of the church. Churches made him uncomfortable. Religion also made him uncomfortable. He tended to not believe in any religion, but considering he had literally been sent to Hell. . . well, it was a little hard to not believe in  _ something _ when you’ve seen the horrors of the afterlife. 

He heard the doors open, and turned to look behind him to see Alfred, who smiled sadly at the teen, coming and sitting next to him with a small groan.

“It’s almost over, Master Damian, they were doing the final prayers when I slipped out.”

“It does seem a little silly that someone like Clark would believe in religion.”

Alfred hummed and nodded. “Maybe. But you don’t know what he has and hasn’t experienced that causes him to believe. After all, it seems a little silly that after all you’ve been through, you  _ don’t _ believe in religion.”

Damian scoffed, wrapping his arms around his knees. Alfred leaned over, wrapping an arm around the boy’s shoulders, pulling him in against his side. Damian didn’t fight it, just stared at the grass along the edge of the church sidewalk.

“What are you thinking?” Alfred probed gently, and Damian could feel the weight of his stare.

“I’m not.”

A soft sigh. “Damian. I know this is hard for you. I know you’ve been through this before, countless times. With your father, with Master Richard . . . with many more close to you. But you don’t have to act as if everything is fine. You and Jonathan have- had a special bond I haven’t seen in a great deal of years. Not even Master Tim and Conner are as close as you two were. I would dare say this loss is harder on you then Richard’s head wound was.”

Damian swallowed back a sob and looked up at Alfred. He looked up at Alfred, opening his mouth to speak, his lip trembling slightly.

“I want him back, Alfred,” he breathed out, tears springing up in his eyes.

“I know, dear boy.”

Alfred hugged him in tight, his free hand coming up to gently stroke at Damian’s hair, humming softly to him. Damian cried silently against Alfred’s shirt collar, wondering silently how he had any tears left in his body.

Why was he crying this much? He wasn’t a child anymore. It seemed that everything made him cry and he hated it. He wanted to scream and pitch a fit and punch something. But he was just so tired all the time. He was either drowning in grief or completely numb, living in this strange emotion of dull contentment.

After another few minutes, people started filing out of the church, cautiously moving around the two men sat on the steps, no one daring to disturb them. Until someone stepped up and put a hand on Damian's shoulder. 

He looked up and found a blonde teenager standing in front of him, and when he rubbed his eyes enough to clear them so they could focus, he found the teen to be Kathy Branden. 

"Branden?" He murmured softly, squinting at her.

"Hey, Dami." She was wearing a short black dress with black tights and black boots, her hair pulled back in a bun. "I just . . . I'm sorry."

Damian shook his head and stood, looking down at her. "Do not apologize to me, I don't- it should be me apologizing."

Kathy shrugged lightly, reaching up to rub at her eyes. "I just. . . I know how much you two meant to each other. . . He really cared for you, Damian. Like, a lot. More than anyone, even Kon."

Damian just blinked at her, wondering why she was telling him this. She offered a slight smile squeezing his arm before stepping back.

"You'll understand, eventually," she told him softly, then turned and walked away.

Damian watched her, confused, then he turned back to Alfred and found the man standing. He offered his arm to Damian, who grabbed onto it, allowing himself to be led back inside, against the flow of the crowd. They walked over to where Bruce was talking with Tim, Kon standing with Clark and Lois near the casket. Damian eyed it with an abject hatred.

"Damian," Tim said, by way of a greeting, and barely waited for permission before pulling Damian into a tight hug. "I'm so sorry. Christ, kid. . . I'm-"

Damian tolerated the hug for a moment before stepping back, feeling a spike of annoyance as he looked from Tim to Kon. Tim had lost his best friend, and yet here he was, alive again. Annoyance or jealousy? Damian couldn't tell.

He didn't speak, didn't say it was fine or it was no matter like he usually would, he just shrugged lightly, fixing his suit sleeves.

"Are you going to be staying with Kon-El for the time being?" Bruce asked, glancing over at Damian.

Bruce and Tim's idle chatter faded into background noise as Damian stared at the wooden box that held his best friend's body. It was about to be sealed when he started walking over, stopping the workers, pulling back open the top half.

Jon was so pale, his skin waxy and almost terrifying. Damian instantly regretted opening the casket again, but didn't close it immediately, just stood there for a second, just looking at his dead best friend.

"Goodbye, Jon. Be in peace," he murmured, then shut the lid, turning and walking away.

He walked out and down to their car without speaking another word to anyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)


	3. What Could Have Been

The next month passed in a painful pace, days blurring into a messy aggregation of time.

Days had no difference between them, a Monday could have very well been the next Sunday for all Damian knew. Eventually he had to return to school, and his world worked in autopilot, finishing out the semester in a dull state of apathy, skating by with all A's based only on his prior amazing grades and the sympathy of his teachers.

He had no interest in anything. He woke up in the morning, he ate what Alfred made him, he went to school for the day, came home, went to bed. Ate dinner. Did homework at some point, and then went to bed again. And like a robot, he woke up and did it all over again the next day. More than anything, he felt like a passenger in his own body, watching it go through the motions of his daily life, while he, meanwhile, had no interest in anything that was going on.

Bruce tried to gently re-engage him back into the vigilante side of their family, but Damian had no interest in it. He had no desire for it. Everything good in the world had been taken away, why the fuck would he fight for the rest of it? But, to appease his father, he would go and work out and train with his brothers, to give them all the satisfaction of feeling like they were helping and they were getting him out of his room.

He didn't even fully understand why he was reacting this way. He had lost people before. Countless people, even some he had been very close with. It had never torn him up like this before. In fact, it usually became a driving force for some goal or mission. Hell, half the time, those people had ended up not actually being dead, or at least coming back to life. So why is he now sinking into such a useless state of depression?

The one thing he hadn't given up or neglected during this time was his art. He had been drawing and painting so much. He just naturally found himself at a canvas or with a sketchbook, drawing anything and everything. Sometimes the cat, sometimes his father, sometimes landscape, sometimes other various friends and family, sometimes Jon. He had, at some point, at a time he didn't remember, drawn a startling likeness of how Jon had looked at his death.

That one had ended up in the trash.

He currently had a painting he was finishing for Lois, and on his drawing desk, sitting against a pot of markers was a very detailed pencil sketch of Jon. He just couldn't get the boys face out if his head, and for some reason, putting it in paper wasn't helping. He had been through a full drawing pad in the time since Jon's death, and quite a few canvases as well. But he supposed it was better to do something, rather then just sitting and staring at the wall all day.

Jon had always been so amazed by his art, he loved watching Damian draw. He would just sit there in silence, watching him sketch, happy to be near Damian.

_ “This is the longest you’ve been quite and awake in our entirely time as acquaintances.” _

_ “Still avoiding the word friends, I see. And yeah, I just think you painting is neat.” _

_ Damian had been painting a mountain scene for his mother, something he knew she loved. Watching the scene come to life underneath his brush was always worth the time and work it took. Jon had been laying on his bed, on the other side of the room, homework laying ignored beside him. _

_ “Have you finished your history report?” _

_ “Ugh, no.” _

_ “Then you should be doing that.” _

_ Damian didn’t stop to look behind him, but he knew Jon hadn’t moved, and for some reason he was oddly pleased by the fact that Jon was eager to watch his art in progress. _

_ He missed that. _

Two weeks after the funeral, Tim came to talk to him, unprompted.

Tim and Damian got along a lot better these days then they used to, back when Damian was younger and snotty and egotistical. . . Okay, well he still is those things, just now he's older and can recognize his toxic traits and has grown past the majority of his insecurities. But Damian still wasn't expecting him to just waltz into his room with nothing more then a tap on the door.

"What do you want?" Damian asked, glancing up from the paper he was drawing on.

Tim didn't answer at first, looking through a bunch of discarded works, flipping through them idly, then looking up at Damian, who had stopped drawing to watch him carefully.

"I wanted to chat."

Damian sighed, setting down his pencil and pulling off his artists glove, turning to face Tim.

"Come to give me the same talk as Father and Richard?" He inquired, crossing his arms.

"Yes and no."

Damian arched an eyebrow. Tim pushed aside the drawings and sat on the edge of the desk.

"Jon's gone."

"I do not need reminded."

"That's what I thought too. But it turns out I could have used it. Jon is gone, and you can't bring him back."

"I am aware. I haven't started any cloning attempts yet, have I?" Damian asked dryly, feeling a sting of annoyance at Tim for just digging it in deeper.

Conner came back.

Jon would not.

"Damian." Tim's voice was soft, and yet scolding. Damian arched an eyebrow.

"He's not coming back, so why do you keep waiting for him?"

"Excuse me?"

Damian stared at Tim in shock, stumbling over that sentence. He wasn't- he knew that. He wasn't waiting.

Oh, but wasn't he.

"You've been through this enough times," Tim was speaking softly. "You've seen it a dozen times. Someone dies, or almost dies, and then comes back perfectly fine. And I would bet anything that right now you're waiting for Jon to walk through that door."

No that wasn't true.

"That's why you don't break pattern. You don't do anything different or go anywhere that someone wouldn't know where you are. You don't want to leave and go someplace Jon couldn't find you. You don't want to risk missing his return. You go to school, you come home, you go to the cave sometimes, then you go to bed and the next day you do the exact pattern over again."

Damian suddenly felt exposed. Like Tim had just cut him open an autopsy table, and was showing off his insides to everyone who might be there to see it. He didn't like this, defensive tendencies rising up to protect him, and coming out as anger.

"Shut up, Drake," he snapped, standing.

"Damian." Tim was looking at him with pity and he hated it.

"Get out. I did not want you here. I did not ask for this conversation. Get out of my room."

Tim rose up off the desk, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. "Okay, okay. I'll go."

He edged around Damian, watching him a little warily now, stopping and turning back to him halfway there.

"Damian. I'm not telling you that it shouldn't hurt or that you need to recover and start moving on. You loved him. It's perfectly natural to be upset. But . . . Don't let yourself keep waiting, okay, kiddo?" Tim moved to the door and opened it, turning to face him. "I'm just a phone call away."

The door latched shut behind him, and Damian felt this distinct urge to throw his glass cup at the door. He did not. He felt this distinct urge to scream. He did not. Instead he turned and slowly packed away his art supplies, closing the notebook on his half finished oceanscape. He set it back in its appropriate cubby in his desk, turned and walked away two steps. And then without warning, he spun, grabbed his desk chair and threw it with a scream.

It twirled across the floor and crashed down halfway across the room.

He dropped into a crouch, wrapping his arms around his knees as he let out another screeching, keening noise. Tim was right. He was waiting. Despite how many times he had told himself this wasn’t the case, he was waiting for Jon. He was just living life in a loop, hoping for Jon to come and break him out of it, to save him, like Jon always had. He was waiting on Jon, because he had learned to. He would always wait for Jon. 

“Drake!” he called, not knowing why.

Instantly the door opened, and he felt a little annoyed that Tim had been standing outside, but he wasn’t exactly surprised. After all, that’s why he had called out, he had known Tim would be out there. Tim pushed the door closed behind him and walked over, sitting beside Damian, who was eyeing him warily, breathing heavier than usual.

“Can I touch you?” Tim asked softly.

Damian nodded just once, so Tim reached out, gently putting his arms around Damian and pulling him into his chest. Damian just collapsed into him, falling so he was on his hip, leaning heavily into Tim. Tim just hugged him tightly, and Damian let him. Even just two years ago he would have hit Tim for even just touching him, and now he was depending on him for support. They just sat there in silence.

“How did you do this, Tim?”

“I didn’t. If I recall correctly, I was called insane by my closest friends and family, disappeared, tried to clone my boyfriend several times, nearly succeeded, except I didn’t, got attacked by Ra’s, nearly died, proved that Bruce was still alive and then still had to mourn my boyfriend,” Tim said softly, with a small snort. 

“Drake.”

Tim sighed, adjusting his hand, gently rubbing Damian’s back slightly.

“I don’t know how to help you, Damian. There’s nothing anyone can do. This is and will be absolute hell for you. Only you can get through this, you just have to remember that you are not alone. We are here for you, to support you, to be there for you, whatever you need from us. We are here for you.”

Damian was silent, reaching up to brush a piece of hair out of his face.

“I miss him, Timothy. So fucking much.”

“I know.”

“I just want him back. I need him back.”

It was like a hole in his chest, aching and tearing and killing him slowly. It was painful and made it so he didn’t want to wake up in the morning. He didn’t want to move or breathe. He just wanted to stop existing.

And then something occurred to him.

“Tim,” he gasped out, eyes going wide. “I loved him.”

Tim was silent for a moment, and Damian appreciated the time it gave him to think about his latest revelation.

It was true. He had loved Jon. In so many ways he had loved him. As a friend, as a partner . . . in a romantic way, apparently. The warmth in his stomach and chest every time he saw Jon, how much he worked to get Jon to smile, how much he worked to spend time with Jon. He put more effort into maintaining their relationship, talking with Jon, texting him whenever he could, going down to Metropolis for Sunday lunch. Those types of things. He remembered how giddy he would feel around Jon, grinning and laughing much more freely than he would around anyone else. He always felt fuller, happier, more real around Jon. He felt more human with Jon, like he could actually be a teen and could just exit.

He felt free with Jon.

"I'm sorry, Damian," Tim murmured, his hand coming up to the back of Damian's head.

He loved Jon, and now it was too late to ever tell him. He would never have that option, and it tore into the already shredded pieces of his heart. It made the pain so much more real, so much worse. A physical pain in his chest, in his heart was becoming more and more apparent, and it felt like it was going to kill him. In fact, he’d let it.

Tim sat with him for a few minutes more, and then Damian asked him to leave, a little politer this time. Tim gave him a gentle squeeze and headed out, into the hall, shutting the door behind him. Damian stood and righted his desk chair, putting it back in place, then walked to the window of his room, staring out, feeling a little emptier than before.

He wondered how Jon would have reacted to this. How would have he responded, had Damian ever told him this revelation. Confessed that he loved him. Then he shook his head, deciding he didn’t want to go down that train of thought. He didn’t want to think about how Jon would’ve reacted, likely rejected him. They never really discussed relationships, but it seemed like Jon was interested in girls, and always had been. So Damian decided he wouldn’t contemplate this, wouldn’t let his heart get broken any further.

It was already laying on the ground in shards.

He remembered what Jon used to do when he was sad. Damian didn’t often allow people to see him when he was upset, or to see that he really was upset. He generally fronted by acting angry or ran away and hid from people until he was calmed down. But over the years, he learned to let Jon see him, even in a weak vulnerable state like that. He eventually got to the point where he sought out Jons comfort when he was upset. 

Jon would always hug him close, and gently rub his back or stroke his hair, and whisper promises that he was safe, and that Jon would protect him. He would reassure Damian that he was good and that whatever it was that upset him didn’t define him. Then, once Damian calmed down, he would always be willing to listen to whatever had upset him, then offer advice or just continue to comfort him. But somehow, he always knew exactly what Damian needed in that moment.

And oh how he wanted that back. He longed for it more than anything. His heart ached and his head pounded and his stomach churned, because Jon was dead and gone and he was never coming back and Damian would never be able to tell him any of this anymore. He was gone, and Damian was left behind, feeling alone. 

He felt lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god a HUGE shoutout to my editor for helping with this chapter, she helped me salvage this chapter because i knew what I wanted to do with it, but it was just . . . lackluster? I hope you guys enjoyed it!!
> 
> Or at least, I hope it affected you emotionally :)


	4. This Chapter Ended

**Four years later**

The air was thick, and hot, and it filled Damian’s lungs, pressing into his chest, making breathing feel difficult and biting. The sun beat down on his shoulders, reflecting off the pavement flashing past his trainers as he ran at a near blinding pace, feet moving him along without him having to think about it. The Metropolis summer morning was unbearable, and Damian was expecting a storm to break any minute, with how heavy this humidity was.

He easily dodged around a pedestrian and their dog, not slowing his pace for even a second, blindly running across the crosswalk as well, avoiding a car by just a few feet. Okay, maybe he was being a little reckless, but that was the thrill of his run. Running was one of the few times he could truly clear his mind and just exist - meditating be the only other occasion, but those were getting less and less - and he lived for it. It was the only way to start off his morning, these days. A nice long run, followed by a brisk cold shower and then he was out the door, off to work, never stopping, never slowing.

Just over four years ago, his best friend had been killed. His best friend and the boy he had fallen for. And Damian had never stopped missing him for a second. The pain had, eventually eased, less consuming all encompassing. But he was never truly the same after. He never connected with anyone the same way he had with Jon, not as friends, not in relationships. No one had ever been able to get as close to him as Jon was.

After Jon’s death, life seemed to crawl past Damian without his permission. He finished highschool, went to business school, got a Bachelors in under three years, stayed with Talia over most of the summers, and then after college, he randomly decided to apply for a few management jobs at some businesses in Metropolis, was almost instantly hired, and then moved out of Gotham, renting a house that wasn’t a terribly far drive or walk from his office. Bruce hadn’t seemed terribly pleased about him deciding to move to Metropolis, but hadn’t stopped him.

It was a little strange, living in such a bright and fairly cheerful city. People smiled and said hello, they talked to strangers, they could leave their cars unlocked, and walk at night without fear of being physically assaulted. There were no men running around dressed as giant bats at night, and there was a significant lack of crazed psychopaths - unless we count Lex Luthor . . . and he had mellowed out with old age. Damian still had a vigilante identity, though he solely went by Blackbird now, but he didn’t go out nearly as much as he did with Robin. Maybe that was because of the working a consistent job and needing to sleep properly now that he’s older. . . his bad childhood habits have really caught up with him.

He was fairly content with his current life. He enjoyed his work. It wasn’t quite _Wayne Enterprises_ type work, but he got to help people, and genuinely liked the employee’s under him. He didn’t have to dress fancy or socialize with too many people, and he didn’t feel like he was making an insane amount of money that he didn’t need. He led a comfortable life, and he enjoyed it.

He had just finished his run - returning home to his numerous pets' great joy - and was heading to the shower when his phone started ringing. He turned around and picked it up off the kitchen island where he had dropped it, and glanced at the caller ID. Lois Lane. Damian smiled lightly and answered, putting the phone to his ear and turning towards the stairs.

“Good morning, Lois.”

“Morning, Damian! You sound winded. Just get back from your run?”

“Yes, I was about to clean up.”

“Aah, well I won’t keep you long then. Clark and I wanted to know if you wanted to come over for dinner tonight? We have something we need to tell you.”

Damian raised an eyebrow, but shrugged it off. “Of course I’ll come. What time would you like me there?”

“You get off work at six, right?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Lois was silent for a moment, probably doing a mental calculation. “Would six thirty or seven be better for you?”

“Six thirty would work fine.”

“Amazing. We’ll see you then!”

“Of course. Have a good day, Lois.”

“You too, Damian!”

Damian waited for the phone to go dead, then smiled and shook his head, setting it down in his room and quickly hopping in the shower

Since moving away from his own family - a much needed break, after ten years with them and specifically his father, he needed a break from the insanity of Wayne life and the rules of the Batman - Damian had found himself growing closer with the Kent’s. They usually had dinner together at least once a week, and he was very frequently at their house for Sunday dinner. He saw Tim most of all his family, because of Tim’s relationship with Conner, and the two often visited Clark and Lois when Damian was already there. It almost felt, sometimes, like Damian was a bit of a son to them. They had even had him over for a few holidays this past year. It was a little odd, but he quite enjoyed it, and he enjoyed their company.

After showering he headed to work. His company was an interesting one. It was a lot of little odds and ins mixed into one company that worked and flowed smoothly. Like a group of assorted talent. They had quite a few IT and programmers, they had a few real estate and building contractors that worked together, they had mechanics and engineers, and even a daycare. It was a wonderful mess, and Damian loved managing them all.

Damian had tried dating a few people over the years. His longest relationship was in college, and it was for four months, and partially over summer break, before his then boyfriend had been found out for cheating on him while he was with his mother, and promptly broke up with Damian the second he was called out for it. None of his relationships so far had felt meaningful. They had all felt surface level and like he was being more used for his social status and sex then anything else. And he probably was.

He spent his work day filling out payroll, had lunch with a few of his vegan co-workers, ran to the store to pick up some more flour and yeast after work, and then headed home. He did bother to change, just dropped off his groceries and picked up his dogs and then headed out to the Kent farm.

The farm itself hadn't changed much. They still had that big barn, the cows, the sheep, the orchard and the big vegetable garden. But there were still signs of the past around. The abandoned basketball hoop over by the barn, the decrepit swings that had been pushed out of the way. Various things like that, which only served to show that something was not the same as it was five years ago.

Damian let Titus and his most recent adoption, a little Aussie mix named Desdemona, out of the car, and they immediately went bounding up to the front door, turning to wait for him patiently. Sometimes Kon would bring Krypto and the three pets took great pleasure in playing with each other, but Damian highly doubted his brother and the clone would be there today. He walked up to the front door, empty handed, as Lois had long ago ordered him to stop bringing them host gifts or food or anything unless she specifically asked him too.

These days, knocking was more of a courtesy then anything, so he lightly tapped on it and then stepped inside, making the dogs wait.

"Hello!"

"Damian! Come on in!"

He let the dogs run past him inside, and they went skittering off through the house. He just stepped in, shut the door and kicked off his shoes before walking in, hands in his pockets as he walked into the kitchen where Lois and Clark were, Clark happily petting the dogs.

"Hello," he greeted again, walking over so Lois could hug him.

"Welcome, welcome!" She said cheerfully, before returning to stirring something inside a pot.

Clark and Damian hugged quickly as well, and then Damian banished the dogs from the kitchen. They went and sat in the doorway instead. They chatted while Lois finished up dinner and then when it was ready, he and Clark helped carry it out. They hadn't been eating for very long when Clark cleared his throat.

"So, Damian?"

Damian hummed, glancing up.

"How has work been going?"

"Oh, it's been good, I suppose. And yours?"

"It's been good too, picked up some new projects that I've been trying to finish up here soon, Lois has started a new book."

"Oh really? I'd be interested in hearing about it," Damian told her with a charming smile.

"And I'd be happy to tell you about it. . . Once I know what's going to be happening in it."

They both laughed, then silence fell as they returned to eating. It wasn't until Damian was almost done that a full conversation picked up again.

And he wasn't sure it was one he wanted to hear.

"Damian, the reason we asked you out for dinner," Lois started, sighing and setting down her fork.

He just hummed again, looking up, confused. He remembered her mentioning some kind of news, but figured it would have been work related.

"I'm not quite sure how to tell you this, other than to just tell you, but . . . " Lois took a shaky breath, then reached up and rubbed her face.

Something was wrong. Why would Lois be worked up this much? What was happening?

"Lois?" Damian questioned gently, reaching a hand across the table to her, feeling apprehension bubble up in him.

"Damian." Clark gently put a hand on his shoulder. "We got word, not long ago, that Jon- . . . He's alive again."

Damian turned to look at Clark, and there was an almost comedic pause, before the reality of those words hit him like a truck.

Jon was alive again? How was that possible?

How could that be?

Why now, right when Damian had stopped expecting him to come back?

He sat back in his chair hard, staring at the table as he tried to process this information, his mind reeling for a moment before quickly settling on disbelief and anger. Anger at the Kent's. He looked up at them, scowling and Lois started talking before he could.

"We're not making this up-"

"How dare you," he forced out. "How could you give me hope like that?"

"Damian, we're not-"

"I finally move on, and you're telling me he's back? Do you have any idea how cruel that is?!" Damian snapped, pushing back his chair.

Lois started tearing up, and she stood as well.

"You think this isn't hard on us as well?!" She snapped back. "He may have been important to you, _but he was my son!_ "

Damian was opening his mouth to respond, when Clark held his phone out.

"Here. You don't believe us? Watch this."

A video was loaded up. Damian snatched it and stepped away from the table, turning his back to them as he clicked play, anger still bubbling through him.

How dare they.

The video started with a figure that Damian vaguely recognized as Brainiac 5 stepping into view.

"Mr. and Mrs. Kent," he started, clearing his throat. "We have some news that I'm afraid will be rather alarming and frankly very upsetting to you."

It started to sink in, suddenly, that Lois and Clark actually weren't lying, and Damian started feeling sick.

"Just a few weeks ago, we got wind that your son, Jonathan Kent, had somehow been revived by one of our long time . . . Problems. He had hoped to attempt to harness young Kent's solar flare powers and use them against the Legion."

Damian wanted to throw up. This couldn't be true. Some villain revived his best friend to use him as a _battery?!_

"We've been tracking him for a while now, and have recently apprehended him and been able to locate and bring young Jon to the Legion headquarters, where we intend to help him recover from this experience and from his . . . Death. We only plan on keeping him here a few weeks, and then plan on returning him to you. I assumed you would like to know ahead of time, to prepare yourself for this. I send my deepest apologies, as I'm sure this must be very upsetting for you," Brainiac 5 continued, actually looking sad. "I only hope some good can come out of his return. We'll be in touch."

The video fizzled out, and Damian was left, standing there, feeling oddly empty. Silence hung over the room for a bit before Lois spoke.

"Damian?"

"Do you have proof? Proof that this is real?"

Clark held out his hand for his phone and when Damian held it out, Clark took it and quickly looked for something. Then he held it out again. Damian nearly dropped the phone the second he took it.

"Hey, mom, hey, dad."

A young Jon Kent, probably close to, or still 14, was on his screen, next to Brainiac 5. Jon was in a hospital bed and he looked . . . Well, frankly like death. He was pale, and his cheeks were gaunt, no extra fat anywhere on his body. He looked exhausted, and his hair was greasy.

Damian couldn't breath.

"I . . . Don't really know what's going on," Jon was saying. His voice sounded horrible, it was all scratchy and weak. "I know this is going to be horrible for you guys. Brainiac says he'll explain everything but. . . I'm okay. I'm safe. I miss you guys, a lot, but I'll be back soon. I promise. I love you guys."

He paused, looking up as Brainiac said something.

"Yeah, okay. I need to rest. . . . Could you guys- could you tell Damian? Please. Tell him. . . Tell him I miss him."

The screen shut off and Damian was still trying to breathe. They weren't lying. This was real. This was really happening.

He felt. . . Upset?

Why was he upset? He should be so happy that Jon was back and alive. He should be overjoyed. His best friend was alive again!

No.

He was angry. He was upset. And he couldn't figure out why.

Silence hung over for a bit.

And then Damian could practically feel the switch from emotional to apathetic. He immediately went into a clinical mindset.

"Have you had any further contact from them?"

"Not yet, we just got this last week."

"And have you investigated this?"

"Yeah, I went and checked Jon's grave," Clark said, looking glum. "It's empty."

Damian nodded, reaching for his own phone.

"Damian. We've done as much research as is possible. They're telling the truth."

Damian hesitated a moment. He held his composure for just another minute before allowing it to crumble.

"When can we see him?" he asked, voice small and broken.

"We don't know yet."

Lois walked around the table and hugged him, and Damian let her, starting to feel a bit numb. He had lost Jon for four years . . . And now this? How would he get used to this?

How could he get used to the fact that all of that was for nothing?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you guys like my plot? Totally makes sense, right? Definitely
> 
> I love it.
> 
> Anyway :)
> 
> :)


	5. My Dearly Departed

A whole month passed by before the Kent’s heard from the Legion again. Two months passed by before they were able to talk to Jon.

Damian hadn’t been able to.

He had been in Europe, visiting his mother, as well as running some errands for his father, doing some research and recon for some League related missions, so when Lois had called him to say they were going to be able to talk with Jon for a bit, he hadn’t been able to return home in time.

It was three months before the Legion contacted them that Jon was going to be able to return home soon. And another four before they were actually given a rough estimation of when. 

Damian wasn’t sure how he was feeling about this. Excited, eager, nervous, fearful, wary, and confused were all emotions that he went through regularly while thinking of this current situation. When he had told his family, they had been equally confused, and Bruce had required two full explanations before he seemed to fully understand. They all believed Damian. It wasn’t like this was the strangest thing that had happened to them, but it certainly was surprising. Dick hadn’t hesitated to voice his concern.

_ “Is he going to come back at fourteen then?” _

_ “I do not know, but I would assume so,” Damian said, with a shrug. _

_ “Isn’t. . . “ Dick hesitated here. “You’re okay with this? I mean, you realize that things are going to be massively different between you two now? You’re twenty-one, and he’ll only be fourteen. You’ll be more like his older brother then his peer now.” _

_ “I’m aware, Richard. . . But even just having him back?” Damian sighed, reaching up and rubbing his face. _

Damian was apprehensive about the situation for that reason. It wasn’t much of a secret, anymore, what Damian’s feelings for Jon had been, and upon further self reflection, he had realized he had never fully gotten over his teenage love. He’d never really had to. After all, what could it do to anyone? He could never act on it, and it was just one part of Jon he could always keep with him, no matter what. Maybe it wasn’t healthy, but it wasn’t necessarily hurting anyone either. 

But now? Now he’d have to deal with it. After all, he, a twenty-one year old, couldn’t exactly be in love with a fourteen year old. It’s pretty obvious why that’s a problem. Their age gap had already made things a little . . .touchy in the past, but now it was just completely impossible. 

Clark and Lois hadn’t told him much from their talk with Jon, apparently it had been short, and Jon seemed to be okay. They had talked about the legion, and what he had been doing, and how people back home were. But that was it. They hadn’t been able to see him either, just talked over the phone.

Damian was so eager to see his best friend again, he felt sick half the time.

When Jon came back, Damian was out on a patrol.

Clark had sent him information about a series of kidnappings, and he was worried it was leading to something worse, and had asked the detective to look into it. He was in the middle of hunting down clues, when he heard a familiar rustle of fabric, something that could only be attributed to a cape, come from behind him.

"Yes?" He asked, without looking back.

There were only a few people who could find him while he was on a patrol, and only half of them wore capes.

"Blackbird," Clark's voice said, he sounded . . . Worried?

Damian finished collecting the sample he needed, and then turned around.

And almost dropped the vial.

When Damian had been told that Jon was returning home, he had been expecting a fourteen year old, maybe fifteen, max. He hadn't been sure how he would react, or how their relationship would change. But he sure as hell hadn't been expecting whatever this was that was in front of him.

"Hi, Damian."

No words were coming to Damian's mouth. He couldn't figure out how to speak. He couldn't figure out how to process this. Stood before him was Clark, and a teenager that Damian could only assume was Jon.

Except he  _ definitely _ was not fourteen.

Jon looked to be just slightly shorter then Clark, of course it was hard to tell, because they were both flying. He had grown up considerably, broad shoulders, large, muscular arms. He didn't seem to be as muscular as Clark, but was still unarguably in good shape. His uniform was still featured the classic Super symbol, but yet was still very different from Clark's solid blue. Jon still had the black pants, like his younger days, when he just wore the jeans, but his red boots came up higher, nearly to his knees. He sported a red and black belt, with actual pouches on it. His shirt was the classic blue color, with the symbol still in red, but the red flowed over his shoulders, into his cape, and he had red gloves that went partially up his forearms.

Beyond the uniform, Jon was  _ stunning. _ He had grown up quite handsome, and Damian didn't know why he was even surprised, with Lois and Clark as parents. His hair was still black, but very curly now, and it was a decent length to show off his curls, but not too long. He had lost a considerable amount of his "baby fat", his jawline was more defined, cheeks narrower, strong nose, that was a little crooked, like it had been broken a few times. His blue eyes had turned a little purple, and he was sporting a scar on his right cheek.

Damian realized he had been staring for far too long, and easily let himself slip back into detective mode. Detective mode was easier to protect himself.

"Superboy?" He inquired, carefully packing away his sample in his belt.

"Yeah, it's me."

Damian looked towards Clark, raising an eyebrow.

"It's Jon . . . We were surprised too."

"We kind of forgot to mention the time difference," Jon muttered softly, looking down. His voice was much deeper too.

Damian had missed being able to mock him while his voice changed.

He ignored the wave of emotions that crashed over him.

“How old are you now, then?”

“I’m nineteen, or well, almost twenty. . . I’ve. . . I didn’t expect to stay with the Legion for the past few years, but they needed a Superman.”

Damian nodded, processing this for a moment. Logic was slipping through his fingers as emotions took over. Jon touched down, walking over, and Damian noticed that Jon was taller than him. They looked at each other for a moment, then Jon cracked a soft smile, and Damian felt his final grip on emotional control just shatter. 

His smile was still the same.

They stepped into each other at the same time, Jon’s arms wrapping around Damian, almost protectively, while Damian hugged around his stomach, pressing his face into Jon’s shoulder. It was so wrong, and yet so right at the same time. It hurt so much, but it was so soothing, to be able to hug Jon again. His emotions were like fire and ice. Relief, and anger. Elation and complete despair. 

“I’m sorry, Damian,” Jon whispered, a hand sliding up into Damian’s hair, squeezing him in close. “I’m so sorry.”

Damian couldn’t find his words, so he just squeezed Jon in return, letting his weight rest on the younger man.

After a moment, he stepped back and reached up to rub at his face, wincing as the rough material of his gloves scratched his skin.

“I like the new uniform,” Jon said, stepping away and sniffing a bit. He looked like he had been crying.

“Thanks,” Damian responded, sniffing as well. He hadn’t been crying, but he had been close. “It was time for a change.”

Jon smiled softly, glancing back at Clark, who was still hovering to the side.

“Dad, can Dami and I-”

“Of course, kiddo. You know where to find us. . . Damian?”

“I’ll be okay, Clark. I’ll get this research done and get back to you.”

Clark just nodded and turned, flying away.

“Can we find some place a little more private to talk?”

“My house isn’t far,” Damian said, throwing one last look around the scene, then turning and walking away, back to his motorcycle.

“You live in Metropolis?”

Damian just nodded, noting Jon floating behind him. He led Jon back to his house, and quickly parked the bike in the back of his garage, then led him inside.

“Wow, this is- Holy shit, Titus!?”

Damian glanced behind him. Jon had stopped in the doorway, getting bombarded by Titus, who acted like he knew exactly who Jon was. Damian just smiled a bit and reached up, taking off his mask, then gloves, running his fingers through his hair. Titus was just eagerly rubbing on and licking Jon. He was laughing, and looked up at Damian with a grin, and Damian felt something squeeze his heart in response. Jon seemed to freeze a bit, and straightened, examining Damian fully now.

“What?” Damian asked with a little laugh, feeling a little self conscious with how much Jon was staring at him.

“Nothing I just . . . Didn’t know what to expect,” Jon said finally, pulling his gaze away, looking around the house.

They were currently stood in the kitchen, a nice open space that flowed smoothly into the dining and living area. 

Damian snorted a bit, reaching back to pull his batons off his back. “You think you’re surprised?”

Jon winced. “Yeah. . . I’m sorry. I just. . . By the time we realized how fast I was aging there, compared to how time was passing here, I was . . . I was already sixteen, and then shit just kept happening and I couldn’t come home. I couldn’t . . . I couldn’t leave them, Damian.”

Damian grit his teeth, looking away.

“Damian, I’m  _ sorry _ . I know how hard this must be. I can’t . . .  _ fuck. _ ”

Damian’s head snapped over, eyes wide. “Did you just- Did you just say-”

Jon frowned. “I’m nineteen now, Damian, I think I can swear.”

“No, you-” Damian all but slammed down his batons before walking away.

He didn’t know how to express what he was thinking. Even at 21, expressing emotions in words was hard. He wasn’t always successful at portraying them correctly, and doing so in English was even harder. English was dumb.

“Damian.”

“You were _dead_ , Jon!” Damian exclaimed, whirling around to face him. “I held your body! And now here you are!? Do you have no _fucking idea_ how difficult this is for me!! For four years I have mourned you, I’ve had to deal with that! With knowing the only person I _have ever,_ ** _will ever_** considered to be a best friend was _dead!_ I’ve had to live with that!”

“Dami-”

“And it’s been absolute  _ hell! _ I didn’t want to go on for months after, because what the fuck was the point of living in a world without my best friend!? Do you have  _ any _ idea how hard it was for me to just get to this point!? To be able to live on my own, and work a normal adult job?! And then suddenly I get told that, guess what, it doesn’t fucking matter because you’re back again!? How am I supposed to deal with any of this?!”

Jon was staying silent now, letting Damian rant, but his eyes were getting wet and he had crossed his arms over his body protectively.

“I  _ mourned  _ you! I had my heart broken. I had to lose you, over and over again, every day I had to wake up and remember that  _ you weren’t here anymore _ . I had to let go of you. And you fucking expect me to move on from that?!”

Damian was burning with anger right now. He was absolutely furious, and he hated himself for it. He shouldn’t be mad. He should be happy. Jon was back, he was alive, he was standing before Damian, real as the sun in the sky, and just as bright. But here Damian was, screaming at him. 

“Do you-” Jon reached up and wiped his cheeks, and Damian realized he was crying.

He wanted to throw up.

“Do you not want me here?”

Panic hit him with that question.

“Do you not want me to be back?” Jon asked, and his voice was steadily growing more angry. even as his eyes filled with more tears. “Do you think this wasn’t hard on me either? To stay away from you, from  _ my parents _ for five years? Do you think I didn’t cry at night, thinking about what all of you went through? Thinking about how fucked up this was? Thinking about you, being alone, with just your family, and no one- no one you were truly comfortable with? Do you think that I didn’t consider, at every moment, every minute of every day, of running back here, of coming and finding you?

“You don’t think I considered, every night, lying awake in bed, how you’d react to me coming home, how mom and dad would react? I was just a kid, Damian! Like. . . are you fucking kidding me? This was hard on everyone!! Don’t be self-”

Jon cut off, but Damian heard the unspoken word.  _ Selfish. Don’t be selfish, Damian. _

Damian’s posture instantly changed, closed off, guarded, cold. He put his hands on his hips, straightened his back, and narrowed his eyes at the still crying Jon.

This conversation was not going well.

“Why didn’t you come back then?” he asked, sounding robotic, almost.

“Because I couldn’t!!!” Jon all but yelled. “I couldn’t come back! I was so sick and weak for so long, and then Brainiac was hurt, and then shit was happening with the Legion, and I was getting thrown from one crisis to the next, over and over again. It felt like I barely breathe, and the Legion was in such horrible shape, I couldn’t leave them, but  _ fuck if I didn’t want to!” _

Silence hung over, the room felt like it was echoing with Jons shout, the tension was thick in the air, and Damian didn’t know what to do. He was still angry. Angry at the world, angry at the Legion, angry at Jon, angry at himself. But he didn’t want to push Jon any further away, either. He didn’t want to lose him even more.

He turned away and started looking through his cabinets, finding a bottle of whiskey and a glass and pouring himself a drink, giving himself a moment to think. To calm down. He needed to calm down.

“Jon.”

“What?” Jon forced out, then cleared his throat.

“I-”

Damian took a drink, then turned to Jon. He was clearly hurt. 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have yelled. I just . . . “

“Don’t know how to handle all of this?”

Damian nodded. Jon sighed, walking over to the dining table and sitting down, putting his chin on his hand.

“Me neither.”

Silence hung over them and they just looked at each other, Jon occasionally rubbing his eyes or nose with the back of his glove. It was so surreal, just to be looking at him. It was that odd feeling of seeing someone that you knew as a child. They’re so familiar to you, and yet so entirely different. You recognize them, and yet you know nothing about what they’re like now. They could be, and probably are completely different, their favorite foods may be their least favorite now. So much had changed, for both of them. Where should he even start?

Finally, Damian walked over and sat down near Jon. Not next to him, but still at the table.

“How old are you now, then?” Jon asked, swallowing and looking up at him.

“Twenty-one, I’ll turn twenty-two later this year.”

“Right. . . August 9th, right?”

Damian smiled and nodded.

“Nice, at least I still remember that.”

Jon looked around the house again, then down at Titus, who had planted himself at Jon’s feet.

“I think. . . I think I should go back home? Or. . . To Mom and Dad’s?” Jon said, carefully standing, and turning to Damian. “I don’t know. I’m . . . I have a lot to sort through, and figure out, and I think we both need some space.”

Damian wanted to ask him to stay. But he also wanted to yell some more, so he didn’t. 

“Alright.”

Damian also stood, moving towards the door some.

“I’m gonna. . . “ Jon trailed off, looking down at his feet. Damian could tell he was nervous.

“Are you going to be going back to the Legion?”

“No . . . Not right now, at least? I’ve got . . . I missed out on so much, and I need to try to be normal, and I need to, I guess, figure out how to get back to being Jon Kent, and not Superman, ya know?”

“Well good luck, because I’m pretty sure Jon Kent is still legally dead. That might give you some issues.”

Jon snorted, looking up at him. “You bats seem to manage fine, despite that.”

“Do we?”

Jon cracked a slight smile, then walked over to the door, opening it, then turning back to Damian. 

“I’ll see you around?”

“Likely.”

“Great.”

“Goodbye, Jonathan.”

“Bye.”

Damian watched the door shut behind Jon. Then he turned, and walked back to the dining table, and sat down, slumping against the solid wood table. It took him a moment to realize he was crying, and he only truly noticed it when a frustrated sob tore from his throat.

He had Jon back, and he blew it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A wild ride, right folks? :)
> 
> What do you think will happen next?


	6. Truth Or Dare, Was I Good To You?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think you'll all like this chapter!!! Enjoy! Happy times!

"So how'd it go?"

"Grayson."

Dick offered an awkward shrug, glancing over at Damian again.

"I just . . . I dunno, I know you were excited. And it's not exactly a secret anymore that Jon's not . . . As young as we all thought he would be."

Damian sighed, turning to his brother.

They were standing in the midst of a banquet, watching people twirl around the dance floor with their partners. Dick was waiting for his husband to show up, and then he would likely ditch Damian to fend for himself. He hated coming to banquets. His work parties were always much more satisfying.

"It was a mess," he said simply, and turned away again, looking down at his phone to text Maya back.

"I've heard some bits and pieces from Tim. Something about Jon being older than anyone expected?"

"He's 19."

"Well shit."

Damian didn't respond.

"Look, I get it if you don't want to talk about this, but you pretty much immediately came running back home so I just . . . Don't want you keeping it all bottled up, I guess?"

"I just need to be around something familiar, Richard."

"Okay, well, if you need to chat, I'll be here. Even if I'm with Wally, just pull me aside."

Damian nodded to show he understood and looked away.

Dick did eventually leave when Wally got there, the two going off to their acquaintances and friends. Damian stayed by himself for a while, before eventually drifting over to where Bruce was chatting with different old people that looked like they were about to bite it at any moment.

"Oh, Damian! There you are!"

"Hello, Father," Damian said with a soft smile, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries. "Father, might I steal you for a moment?"

"Of course, Damian. Excuse me," Brucie Wayne said, smiling and pardoning them, then pulling Damian over to a quieter part of the banquet hall.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm going back to the manor."

Bruce frowned at him, crossing his arms, but otherwise relaxing his posture.

"Why?"

"I'm . . . I can't, with the-" Damian gestured out at the crowd. "I need to be alone."

Bruce glanced around, then gently grabbed Damian's elbow and pulled him further out of the way.

"Are you sure you don't want to talk?" He asked softly, immediately having shifted into concerned dad voice.

Damian felt his throat closing up, but he just shrugged. "I'm unsure about everything these days, father."

Bruce sighed and stepped in, hugging Damian, gently cupping the back of his head.

"Oh, Damian," Bruce murmured softly, and just let it hang there.

But Damian just leaned into the hug. He let Bruce take his weight, because he knew the old man could, and just gave up for a moment.

His life was weird and he had fucked things up with Jon. He was a mess, a disaster, it was like there was this bandage over his life that was quickly fraying at the edges and coming undone. Everything he had worked so hard for in the past four years seemed insignificant and pointless now.

"There's still time to forgive and heal, Damian. But you need to let him back in, don't hold him at arm's length for forever."

Damian opened his mouth to protest, but Bruce kept talking.

"He loves you, Damian, maybe not quite in the same way that you loved him, all those years ago. But I know you did, and likely still do, mean so much to him. From what . . . I'm sure he wants to make things right, but he doesn't know how. So just talk to him. It's what you both need."

Damian sighed, pressing his face into Bruce's shoulder for a few seconds before pulling away and looking up at his father. Bruce smiled softly, tweaking Damian's nose.

"But you better sort it out before you go to Cairo for two weeks."

"Oh shit," Damian muttered, scowling.

Bruce laughed a little. "Did you forget you were going to Cairo?"

"I've been distracted," Damian mumbled as his defense.

Bruce just shook his head fondly and gently put his hand on Damian's shoulder.

"Just be honest, and maybe, this time, try to avoid letting that come out as anger?"

"Clark gossips too much."

"He's a reporter, what do you expect?"

Damian sighed and glanced away. "Okay, fine."

"Amazing. I'll see you at home?"

"Yes, I'll stay the night."

"Great. I love you, Damian."

"And I you, baba."

Bruce grinned a little wider, squeezed Damian's shoulder, and then walked away. Damian watched him leave, and with a sigh, turned to head for the exit, not stopping to talk to anyone else. He drove back to the manor, grateful he had driven himself here so he could leave like this.  


Back at the manor, Alfred was cleaning, and looked up, surprised when Damian walked into the living room.

“You’re home early,” Alfred remarked, glancing over at the clock.

“I decided I no longer wished to deal with Gotham’s socialites.”

“Ah.”

Damian sat on the sofa and looked around the large, mostly empty living room. It was clean, everything put in its proper place, but would likely soon not be this way, once his brothers returned.

“Are you sure that’s why?”

Damian glanced at him, eyebrow raising.

“Even if I wasn’t aware of recent events, I would still be able to tell you’re upset, Damian,” Alfred said, coming and sitting next to him.  


Damian just sighed and looked down.

“I know you’re probably tired of everyone asking if you’re okay, or asking if you need to talk,” Alfred murmured gently. “But I do hope you know that they just ask that because they care.”

Alfred hugged him gently and then stood and returned to cleaning. Damian watched him dust for nearly ten minutes.

“Alfred, I yelled at him.”

Alfred paused, but didn’t speak.  


“I yelled at Jon for being back. I yelled at him for being alive.”

This got Alfred to turn around, eyebrow raising.

“I was just . . . confused and hurt and angry and I took it out on him but I didn’t mean to. I don’t want him to think I don’t want him to be alive. I just . . .”

“Did you apologize?”

“Yes, But I think it was too late.”

“Why were you angry?”

“I-”

Why was he angry? What good reason did he have to be angry? He couldn’t even remember why he was angry. He remembered yelling and yelling, and he remembered feeling angry, but he didn’t remember  _ why.  _ He sat there, trying to remember their conversation.

“I don’t know?” Then he remembered. “I was- I was angry because he chose the Legion over us. Because he could have come back sooner, but he chose to stay with them.”

Alfred nodded, setting down his dusting cloth and coming to sit next to Damian.  


“And I yelled at him because I was upset and hurt and he yelled back and-” Damian stopped, he didn’t need to tell Alfred that, it wasn’t important.

“And what, dear boy?”

Except it was important, because it was the one thing that had been playing on repeat in his mind for several days.  


“He called me selfish,” Damian breathed out. “And he’s right. I am. I know he was needed there, with the Legion, but I was just thinking about how he chose them over me, and I was just thinking about myself and-”

Damian took a breath to collect himself, reaching up to rub at his face. He felt . . . silly for being so upset about this. He felt like a child for breaking down in front of Alfred. But he just needed someone’s support, and Alfred was always able to give good advice. He trusted Alfred, even more than his father, and he knew Alfred was capable of giving an unbiased answer.

“I don’t think it’s particularly selfish, how you feel about the situation. Anyone would be upset in this situation, and it’s perfectly reasonable of you to be so. Now, yelling at Jon about it, maybe not so much. But it sounds like both of you made mistakes that day, and you need to sit down and have a conversation about it, because I suspect he is as torn up about it as you are.”

Damian sighed, shrugging.  


“Yeah, I guess. It’s just . . . weird to be around him.”

“I can imagine. However, if you want to be around him more, then you need to talk with him and make amends.”

Damian nodded. Logically he knew this, emotionally, he was done with this conversation. “I’m going to go make tea.”

So he stood and walked away and did just that.

Two days later, when he was back home in Metropolis, he started inquiring after Jon, mostly via texting Clark and Lois. They were clearly not being very forthcoming, but spent a lot of time inquiring after Damian, asking how he was doing, if he was okay, if he needed anything, such questions.

Damian finally gave up, and just went over one day after work. He knew the Kent’s schedule fairly well by now, and he had a feeling that it wouldn’t have changed much, even with Jon’s return. Unless they took the week off. But he just drove over to Hamilton county, down to their little farm, walked right up to the front door, knocked and then walked in, his body on autopilot.

“Lois, Clark?!” he called, shutting the wood door behind him. He knew Lois was here at least, her car was still in the driveway, as was Clark’s.

“Damian?!” Lois’ confused voice called back.

Damian followed it, through the house, into their office.

“Hey, kid, what’s up?” Lois asked, standing and walking over to him, hugging him quickly.

She had been sitting at their desktop, Jon beside her, as they were working on something. Damian just hugged her tightly for a second before stepping back.

“I just wanted to come over and visit, and I need to talk to Jon.”

He looked past her and made eye contact with Jon, who frowned slightly, looking away.

“Oh, well. . . Clark is out with the league tonight, but you’re welcome to join us for dinner! I was gonna make breaded chicken fingers, but I’m sure I can come up with something else quickly. I should still have some tofu-”

“Thank you, but I won’t be staying for dinner, I have a lot of work to catch up on, since I spent the weekend in Gotham.”

“Oh, right!” Lois leaned a shoulder into the doorframe. “How was that? How’s the fam?”

“They’re doing just fine. Richard tells me that he and Wallace have got a court date to appeal to adopt Alex.”

“Oh my god! That’s amazing, you’ll have to let me know if they get that granted!”

“I will,” Damian answered with a small grin, then glanced at Jon who was watching them curiously. “How was work? You had that big article come out today, no?”

“Yeah! Have you gotten to read it yet?”

“No, I usually do during my lunch break, but I had so many odds and ends that I worked while I ate.”

“You’re one busy guy,” Lois remarked with a chuckle. “And so far it seems that the response has been fairly positive, well, except for the obvious.”

“Article?” Jon inquiried softly.

“Hm? Oh. Yeah! I’ve been working on this article about the trans community for the past month. It’s a pretty intense investigate article that really cuts down to the root of discrimination against them,” Lois explained, turning to her son, immediately grinning when she saw him.

“What I was able to read previously was beautifully worded,” Damian complimented, reaching out to lightly nudge Lois.

“Oh shut up,” she said, grinning at him.

Damian just chuckled.  


“Well, I guess I’ll leave you two to chat,” She said, shooting Damian a look that said “play nice” and then walked out.

Damian watched her leave, then carefully shut the door behind him, hesitating a moment, his hand on the door knob.

“Damian-” Jon started.

“No, let me go first,” Damian quickly interrupted, nearly sounding pleading, as he turned to face the boy- no, the man he had come to apologize to.

Jon scowled, but nodded, motioning at Lois’ abandoned office chair. Damian stayed standing.

“I’ve wronged you.” Damian just launched into it, no hesitating, no overthinking. Just speaking the truth.

The truth was never easy for him. He lived a life that was sustained by lying. He had been lying since he became Robin. . . no he’d been lying since birth. He had been taught lies were a form of survival, lies were how you kept afloat in the world, lies were your protection. Telling the truth could be difficult, but over the years, he’d also learned how relieving telling the truth could really be.

“You were right, I was selfish. All I could think about was how you could have come home months ago, when we found out, but instead you chose to stay with  _ them. _ I was jealous that they got to be with you, when I couldn’t. I was jealous that they got to see you grow up and I didn’t. And I had  _ no right _ to yell at  _ you _ for that. I was out of line and I am truly sorry for that. Additionally, I am sorry if I made you think that I do not want you to be back.”

Damian walked over, sitting across from Jon, reaching out a hand to him, Jon hesitated then took it.

“I do. I want you to be back, I want you to be alive. I want you to be  _ here _ , though. I want you to be  _ home. _ I want- I want you to be here so much it physically hurts me. I missed you  _ so much _ ,” Damian explained, squeezing Jon’s hand, meeting his wide blue eyes. “But, you have to allow me some grace. You were . . . you were gone, I mourned you, I tried - and failed, frankly - to move on from you. Then when I was told you would be returning, I prepared myself for fourteen year old Jon to be returning, not . . . an adult. This is all strange and I’m still figuring out how to deal with it, so please, allow me some leniency.”

“Damian-”

“And again, Jon, I am so sorry-”

“Damian,” Jon interrupted, leaning forwards, squeezing his hand a little harder than necessary, just to get him to stop talking.

“You’re not selfish. Not for this, not for being upset. I couldn’t-  _ fuck _ , I couldn’t imagine what I would have done if it had been you and not me. You’re . . . You’re amazing and strong and - as much as I hate it - used to losing the ones you love. It’s something that’s happened time and time again and I wish I could stop it from ever happening again. But you're resilient and you always come back, and I was such a dick for calling you selfish, because if it was me in the position you’re in right now?” Jon shook his head, taking a breath, pausing as he collected his thoughts. “I’m sorry for saying that. But you know, this is weird for me too. I’ve never like, died and come back before, so I’m not sure how I’m supposed to handle these things.”

“I mean, hell, you were expecting fourteen year old Jon? I didn’t even know  _ what  _ to expect when I came back. I wasn’t sure if you’d still be seventeen or if you’d be forty-seven with five kids and ten pets and your own company or something. I didn’t know how my parents would react, and I sure as hell still don’t know how to handle them. I didn’t know if I would be able to stay here or if I’d have to go back to the future, because I was legally dead here. There’s so many uncertainties and I feel like I’m falling down a spiral slide, out of control.”

This wasn’t making Damian feel any better. But he realized this wasn’t about making him feel better, this was about Jon needing comfort, this was about him needing help from someone more experienced than him.

“I just . . . I don’t want to go back, Damian. There, I’ve learned things about some of the people I was working with and I don’t think I can ever look at them the same again. But I’m scared of being here, too. I’m scared of how people will react.”

Damian tugged on Jon’s hand until he leaned forwards and then Damian was hugging him, arms under Jon’s hugging him tightly. Jon immediately pushed his forehead into Damian’s neck and squeezed him tightly.

“I missed you, Damian, a lot.”

“I missed you too,” Damian murmured, closing his eyes.

“I’m sorry for yelling.”

“It’s okay-”

“No it’s not.”

“Well you only get to feel bad if I do,” Damian said stubbornly, pulling away to meet Jon’s eyes.

“Well you don’t get to”

“So there, neither of us get to feel bad.”

Jon scowled at him, then chuckled a bit, looking away at the computer screen.

“What were you two working on?”

“We were talking with some people from the league about my, ya know, death status.”

Damian nodded, turning to face the computer and scanning it. “Baba and I can probably help out some, if nothing else, we can have Tim do some hacking so you’re no longer legally dead. But that doesn’t change people’s memories.”

“Yeah, we were just thinking about getting fake identities or something?”

Damian nodded. “That would be easiest, and we could definitely help with that. It’s certainly not the first time we’ve done that.”

“Yeah I figured.”

They looked at each other, and Jon grinned a bit.

“So when did you move to Metropolis?”

“A few years ago? I was tired of Gotham.”

“I spend two days in Gotham and I’m tired of it, forget about half my life,” Jon said with a laugh.

“Understandable. It’s not a very pleasant place.”

“Not at all.”

Jon sighed softly, and Damian glanced down at his watch.

“I should be going, I need to get working.”

“Work work or like . . . “

“Vigilante work. I still have that case for your father.”

Jon nodded. He looked a bit sad, but just stood when Damian did.

“Well, thanks for stopping by?” Jon said, stepping away from the chair and turning to Damian.  


“Yes, I’m glad I did.”

“Me too.”

They hugged again, and then Damian walked to the door, pausing to turn back to Jon, smiling softly.

“I’ll see you soon, Jonathan,” he promised, and quickly exited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so soft for them okay
> 
> DC LET THEM HEAL


	7. Haven't Had Enough Of You To Myself

Waking up with the sun was weird.

Jon had gone five years of waking up to alarms or to artificial lighting. He had gone five years of having his main solar source being a solar lamp in his room. But now, he was waking up to sunlight slowly filtering in through the curtains in his room, his childhood bedroom, a crack in the curtains allowing the sun to land right in his face, his body immediately soaking in the rays. He yawned and rolled over, burying his face into the pillow.

He had been back home for a week and a half now. He loved being home, loved being back on the farm. He had flown back to Kansas over the weekend and visited his grandparents, and Ma Kent had cried, clutching him close to her and thanking God that their baby was back.

He loved being home, but it was so strange.

He knew, vaguely, how his family would die. Clark in a battle, Lois in old age. He knew vaguely, that Damian was teetering on a dangerous line, that he would teeter that line for the rest of eternity. He knew Batman would disappear into legend and folklore, and he knew Kon was destined for greatness. He knew that's how it would have been, had he stayed dead.

But he was back now, and he _knew_ that would mess up the timeline. He just didn't know _how_ and you can imagine the type of stress he was under.

He loved being home, except for the anxious glances he kept catching from Lois. He'd be in the living room, reading and she'll just suddenly call for him, sounding a little alarmed, and when he rushed to her, the first few times, this look of relief would wash over her, and she would pat his cheek lightly and tell him she was "just checking". He loved being home, except he wasn't allowed to do anything. He wasn't allowed to go out with Clark. He had gone from being one of the most powerful members of the Legion, to benched by his parents' anxiety.

He hated that.

But he loved being home.

Being back in the 21 century was weird. He had gotten used to New Gotham and all its advanced tech and Android's and all the weird differences. He had gotten used to living among countless different species and cultures. He had gotten used to phones and laptops being holo-devices. He'd gotten used to the relative peace of day to day life with the Legion. But now, in the 21st century, the nearest non-human that wasn't Kryptonian was Martian Manhunter, and Rao knows where he was.

But now he was back with "smart"phones and laptops and Netflix and cars that traveled on the ground and secret identities. And it was surprisingly easy to slip back into some old habits, but harder to get rid of some newer ones.

After a moment of laying in bed, awake, Jon forced himself to get up. Like he did when he was a kid, he pulled on some jeans and a t-shirt (they had gone emergency shopping two days after Jon had gotten back because he had absolutely no clothes his size anymore) and trudged downstairs. Except now, he beelined straight for the coffee, drank it nearly straight black, and headed straight out the door without breakfast. He found Clark already outside, starting on the chores for the morning before he'd go into work.

Was he going into work today? Or was he staying home with Jon today? Jon couldn't remember anymore.

"Hey, sport!" Clark called, heaving an unused haybale up into the hay loft.

"Hey, dad," Jon called back, rubbing his eyes and looking around. "What do you need me to do?"

"Go check the chickens?"

"Yessir."

Jon still enjoyed farm work. It was simple, easy, and dependable. There was always work that would need done, especially during the summer. He fed the chickens and filled their water quickly before gathering the eggs and walking them up to the house, where Lois was working on breakfast, scrambled eggs and hash browns.

"Hey, sunshine!" She greeted, a huge grin spreading across her face the moment she saw him.

Jon grinned back and walked over, ducking his head to kiss her on the cheek.

"Morning, mom."

"Hey, since you and your dad are gonna be home today, do you think you could do some work in the garden? The tomatoes need picked and weeded."

"Sure, I'll get it done. . . You know you guys don't have to stay home, I'll be okay."

Lois nodded absently, barely glancing at him. "I know . . . "

Jon sighed, washing the eggs quickly before putting them in the egg basket, then washing his hands.

"I gotta go back out and finish helping dad."

"Okay, have fun!"

It didn't take Jon and Clark long to finish up the barn chores and then come inside for breakfast. It was nice, really, eating with his parents, catching their little smiles and how happy they were.

"Hey so I was thinking I might go visit Kathy?" Jon said, near the end of breakfast, poking at his leftover eggs.

He wasn't used to high protein diets anymore. The Legion hadn't encouraged that.

"Oh?" Lois glanced at him, then at Clark. "Well, I'm pretty sure she's still living in town with her foster parents."

"Yeah. Does she know?"

"Unless she's found out from Damian or Maya, we haven't told her. She doesn't come around much."

"Great," Jon sighed out, rubbing his face.

After breakfast, Lois headed off to work, and Clark and Jon got started in the garden, chatting to each other peacefully, having a few deep conversations about Jon's plans for his new future. They got done before lunch, and Jon took a quick shower before taking off into town, he still remembered her foster parents address, and was just hoping they still lived there, and that Kathy was still with them.

He had no idea if she'd be there or not, and he certainly had no idea how she'd react. But he marched up to the front door and knocked on it.

"Can I help you, son?"

Jon looked up from the porch mat he had been staring at when the door swung open and revealed an older woman, eyebrows raised at him.

"Hello, ma'am. I'm Jonathan Kane, I'm a friend of Kathy's. . . Err, well, an old friend. Is she here?"

The woman gave him a suspicious look, but shrugged and opened the door.

"Come on in, son, I'll go get her."

Jon stepped in, and was hit with a wave of nostalgia, looking around his childhood friends house. Nothing had changed at all from when he was a kid.

"Katherine! There's a young gentleman here to see you!"

Jon stayed in the entryway, looking around and waiting patiently.

"Who is it, Michelle?"

"Some kid by the name of Jonathan Kane?"

"Who?"

Jon looked up as Kathy walked around the corner. It had only been four years for her, but Jon barely recognized her. She had grown up so much, and she was absolutely gorgeous. Her hair had been cut into a short bob, and was currently held back by a bandana. She looked at him, frowning, clearly confused.

"Hey, Kaths," Jon said with a grin, hands in his pockets.

It took a second, but confusion mixed with shock.

"J- Jon?" She gasped out, freezing in place.

"Yeah, it's me. I'm back."

Jon was well accustomed to the feeling of telepaths at this point, and he was glad he still remembered what Kathy felt like, or else he would have immediately thrown up his defenses and kept her blocked out, but as was, he let his walls drop, able to feel her in his head. He just projected to her a memory of them, running around through the cornfields, the memory of them biking home together from school, or riding the bus together during winter.

She had started to cry, and suddenly lunged forwards, throwing her arms around his neck and hugging him tightly. Jon just returned it, closing his eyes and enjoying the hug.

 _"How?"_ He felt her asking, rather than actually hearing it.

_"I'll explain everything, I promise."_

"Katherine?"

Kathy pulled back, turning to her foster mom.

"Oh. Michelle, this is uh, my friend Jon, we used to be friends back in elementary school but then he moved away."

"Oh. Interesting! Well, Mr. Kane, would you like anything to drink?"

"Thank you, ma'am, but I'm okay. Is it okay if Kathy and I go talk for a bit?"

"Oh of course of course! I'm sure you two have some catching up to do!"

As soon as Michelle was walking away, Kathy was shoving Jon out the front door onto the front porch.

"Explain, everything, right now. How the fuck are you alive, and why the fuck are you so hot?!"

Jon laughed awkwardly, going and sitting on the front step.

"It's a long story," he said softly.

And then he explained, starting from the beginning, the hell he went through after his revival, his stay with the Legion, all the way up to his return to the 21st century, supplementing his story with some mental images that they shared telepathically. He trailed off before he got into talking about Damian.

"Christ that sounds. . . I can't even begin to imagine," Kathy murmured softly, squeezing his hand. "But like, Jon, I'm sorry, but it's so fucking weird that you're back."

Jon snorted. "You're telling me?"

"Yeah right, sorry it's just . . . Wow."

"Yeah, it's been a weird couple of weeks since I got back."

"Have you visited Damian?"

Even if Kathy wasn't an empath, the slump of Jon's shoulders would have been enough of a tell.

"Bad then?"

"Better now, but it's whatever, we don't need to talk about my bo- my friend problems. What about you? How have you been? What have you been up to?"

"Oh well, not much I guess? I graduated two months ago, I'm about to go to college in a few weeks."

"Not much? Kath it's been four years- well five for me, but anyway- something interesting has to have happened! Any boyfriends?!" Jon asked, nudging her with a grin.

"Hold on we have a lot to unpack there. Are you older than me?!"

"Uh, yeah I'm nineteen now, er I guess basically twenty."

"That's so fucking unfair!"

Jon laughed, shaking his head. She glared at him.

"Anyway, no. No boyfriends."

"None at all?! Come on, you're seriously a catch, what the hell? You're fuckin gorgeous!"

"Hold on, farmboy, no boyfriends because I'm gay."

"Oh-"

Kathy laughed, grinning at him. It felt so natural, laughing and messing around with Kathy again.

"Anyway, I have had a few girlfriends."

"Yeah? Nice, congrats, Kath!"

"You? I got a few snippets of strong emotions here and there, but nothing clear."

"Oh uh. . . " Jon sighed, looking away, out towards the road, watching cars zip past. "Well, turns out I'm . . . Also not straight? I dated a few people while I was with the Legion, and I just got out of this really . . . Well I guess toxic relationship with a- well actually another telepath. She wasn't who I thought she was."

Kathy hummed sympathetically, patting his shoulder.

"How recent?"

"Uh. . . Time works weird there, but I broke it off a few months ago? It kind of snapped me back into reality, made me realize I needed to come home."

"Yeah. Makes sense."

They sat in silence for a moment, just looking at each other.

"And Damian?"

"What about him?"

Kathy raised an eyebrow and Jon just sighed, looking down at his sneakers, considering how to explain.

"I really missed him, Kath, and the first conversation we had together ended in me running away because we got in this huge fight and yeah we've both apologized for it now, but like . . . What if I messed it up?"

Kathy rolled her eyes. "You didn't mess anything up, you over dramatic queer fool. He missed you too, it's just weird for us, okay? You gotta give us all a chance."

"Yeah I know," Jon sighed.

She leaned her weight into him, head on his shoulder.

"I missed you too, by the way."

Jon chuckled, putting a hand on her leg.

"I missed you too."

Jon stayed with Kathy for a couple hours, just catching up, before heading home for dinner. He had resolved to go see Damian the next day, and went to bed determined.

Only he didn't stay in bed.

He had been asleep for a few hours when the nightmare started. What vigilante (or ex-vigilante in his case) didn't get nightmares occasionally? Except he didn't get them occasionally. He got them _a lot._ A night without a nightmare was rare, and he missed them. His nightmares weren't always ones he fully understood. Sometimes they were just emotions. Sometimes it was just fear and sickness and pain. But tonight? Tonight was a very familiar one. Tonight he had one of the most frequent ones for him.

He dreamed of being revived. It was worse, in his memory, then being killed was. It had come with this horrible migraine that made him instantly sick, his body was frail, weak from having gone so long being dead. He woke up and instantly started throwing up, though there was nothing in his stomach, so he was just retching out empty air, panic and fear and desperation taking over him. It was absolute hell, reliving this, reliving having his body pumped full of solar energy and provoked until he released the solar flare just to defend himself.

He woke up with a scream, rolling sideways in his bed, grabbing his trashcan and retching into it. He wanted to throw up. His head was pounding and his heart was racing.

"Fuck," he muttered, falling flat on his back.

He laid there for a while, staring at the ceiling, letting his heart rate go down, reminding himself that he was okay now, that time was long gone, and he was safe.

"Fuck this."

He jumped up, changed quickly and was out the window before he could second guess himself.

He flew into town easily, and found Damian almost easier. He was in the middle of breaking up a drug deal, easily catching the dealer and snatching away his supply of whatever it was . . . But he didn't arrest him, just stood there, talking harshly with him for a moment, before turning him towards the road and pushing him away.

"Blackbird."

Damian whipped around, the package of drugs still in his hand. It looked like weed. He was tensed for a fight, but relaxed the moment he saw Jon.

"Superboy. What are you doing here? I thought superdad banned you from patrol," Damian snarked back, opening the bag and peaking inside.

"He did. I don't have to obey him."

"Hmm, and yet you do."

"What are you doing out here, by the way? I thought drug deals were a little below you."

Damian raised an eyebrow, turning and shooting a grapple, letting it pull him up to the roof above him.

Jon was . . . Happy to see him, truly. It felt weird, being unsure where their relationship stood, not being able to go to Damian for every little thing. He really had missed Damian so much, and ever since his break up with Irma, he had found himself thinking about Damian more and more, missing him more and more.

He followed Damian over to the roof, and watched him tuck the baggie of weed into his pocket.

"So what brings you out to Metropolis, Superboy?"

"I needed to get out of the house."

Damian smiled just slightly. "So you came and found me?"

"Well, I figured, if there was one person who knew how to get over nightmares, it'd be you."

"I have just the thing."

Twenty minutes later, they were sitting on top of another roof on the other side of town, eating cookies.

They didn't really talk, just sat next to each other, and that was okay. It was nice being with Damian again.

Jon had been stunned when he had first seen Damian unmasked. He had grown up considerably. Jon remembered thinking that Damian was hot at seventeen, but this? Something else entirely. Damian had matured well, his face was angular and very handsome, with strong features that pointed to both his parents. He had a bit of a narrower frame like Talia, but comparatively wide shoulders like Bruce. His hair was trimmed in a mid to low fade, and his green eyes were just as piercing as Jon remembered.

Plus it didn't help any that the Blackbird uniform fit perfectly on his body, no cape to hide how tight it was.

"So," Jon said after an awkward few minutes. "I saw Kathy today."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. She was awfully surprised to see me."

"Hmmn, I'm surprised Maya hadn't told her."

"Are they still friends?"

Damian snorted. "Friends. Those two have had an off and on relationship for the past three years, maybe longer." He glanced over with a smug grin. "Friends is one way to put it."

"Really? Kathy and Maya?"

Damian nodded.

"Damn, who would've thought our best friends would get together."

Damian opened his mouth to respond, then shut it again.

"What?" Jon asked with a small laugh, kicking Damian's shin.

"Nothing."

"Okaaay."

They ate their cookies in silence for a bit, then Damian stood up.

"I need to finish patrols, would you like to come with me?"

"Oh, I thought I was grounded?"

"I'm not your father, now am I?"

Jon grinned and hopped up, stepping off the ledge, and just levitating.

"By the way, have you developed any new powers?" Damian asked, crumpling up their trash and shoving it in another pocket.

"Uh, yeah, quite a few. I'll have to show them to you sometime."

Damian grinned at him mischievously.

"Well, for now, why don't you catch?"

"Catch what?"

Jon let out an alarmed shout as Damian just flipped off the ledge, tucking in his arms to accelerate his fall down the three story drop. Jon shot after him, easily catching him by the foot, then flipping him up and grabbing him around the waist.

"You dumbass!" Jon huffed out, glaring at Damian.

The older man just grinned.

"Hmm, maybe, take me down to the shopping district."

Jon shot up over the edges of the buildings, flying them towards the roofs of the city until they reached the downtown shopping district.

"So what are we doing here?"

"I'm patrolling, land up there please."

Jon landed on the requested roof and set Damian down, stepping back to give him some space. Damian walked over to the edge of the roof and hopped up on it, crouching like a little living gargoyle. Jon just stood there and watched him fidget with his tech.

And he tried to not think about his childhood crush.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all still thinking they're going to Cairo?


	8. Forever After You Will Be My Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all really thought they were going to Cairo, huh-
> 
> Final chapter!!!!! This story has been such an amazing thing to work on, I've loved every minute of it, I've loved getting screamed at by friends as they read it, and honestly just *chefs kiss*  
> I'm really proud of this one and my emotion writing in it. 
> 
> I hope you readers have enjoyed it as much as I have, and I hope this ending has made the beginning well worth it.
> 
> Much love, and enjoy!
> 
> Also!!!! Credit to CoyoteFang1987!!! Wonderful Alex, whom I mentioned a few times in this fic, is actually their OC! I adore Alex and loved borrowing her for this! Please check Coyote out on ao3!

It took a few weeks, but Jon finally settled in to life. He had a faked background, fake drivers license, faked passport, faked Social Security, and a fake diploma. His cover story was that Clark was a family friend, and he was living with them until he could get an apartment in Metropolis.

And Damian was beginning to settle back into his life, with Jon once again in it.

It was weird, but not bad, and they still had misunderstandings and fights, but it wasn't anything near as bad as that first day, and they were always able to work through it within the same day at least.

It was odd, seeing how much Jon had changed over the years. He was definitely more mature, wiser, but also jaded and scarred. His bright, bubbly attitude had been doused a bit, and his smiles, while still infectious, were less frequent then Damian remembered. He was more serious, more tired

After their late night visit, they didn't get to hang out again. Damian left that weekend for Cairo. He'd been going to Cairo yearly since he turned eighteen, the same year Talia had officially left the League of Assassins. They had grown significantly closer, and Damian had come to love their visits. He went to Cairo in the summer, and she came to Metropolis during the late fall. It was a good system. But this time, he couldn't help how distracted he was.

"What is wrong, beloved?"

Damian looked up at Talia. She was sitting across the living room from him, focused on her cross-stitch. 

They didn't do much when he visited. They mostly just existed together, like they always had been living in the same house, but sometimes they traveled a bit within Egypt, went to different markets or tourist sites. A lot of their time, however, was spent inside Talia's house, just being near each other, even if they weren't directly interacting. He did a lot of reading during these trips, and they often spent a lot of time cooking as well.

"Have you talked with baba any?"

"Not recently, why?"

Damian sighed and shifted his seat, looking down at his phone in his lap.

"Jonathan is alive."

She nodded like she knew this, and Damian wouldn't be much surprised if she did.

"And I've just been . . . Distracted by that."

Talia nodded again, setting aside her work and focusing fully on him.

"Have you talked much since his return?"

"Some. . . We had a disagreement, but I think things have smoothed over now."

Talia hummed. "How old is he now?"

"Twenty."

She smiled slightly. "Handsome?"

Damian felt his face instantly heat up. "Mother,” he mumbled, glancing away.

"You're not saying no."

"Mother!"

Talia shrugged. "Everyone knows you used to be in love with him, are you still?"

His face was definitely getting dark now.

". . . I don't know," he confessed, looking away.

She didn't speak, leaving him to think.

"He's . . . Different now, but yet still Jonathan, still Superboy. He's older and wiser and more serious, and he has different interests and he knows so much about the world, more than even I can. He's good and he's _light_. And what right do I have to think I deserve that?" He looked up at Talia. "Besides, we have so little in common now."

She just smiled knowingly at him. "I think you'll find you have more in common than you think."

He shook his head with a sigh.

"I don't know mother. I don't know how I'm supposed to act around him, I don't know what to say to him. I want to be with- around him, but I don't know. I am not often unsure, but I think this is the most unsure I’ve been in my life.”

Talia stood and walked over, sitting next to him on the sofa.

"Damian, beloved," she said softly, putting an arm around him and pulling him towards her in a hug. "I once believed your fate, your destiny, was to rule the league. But now, I look at the man you've grown up to be. . . And your destiny? It is to be happy. It is to find the one you love, and give them a good life, the life your father and I never had."

Damian looked up at her, wondering where this sudden burst of tenderness had come from.

"You and Jonathan have always been connected in a way that even your grandfather was worried about. So whether you are destined to be allies or partners, I do not know. But I believe he will always be a part of your life, just as you have been in his. It is up to you two to decide what that relationship will be.”

He nodded faintly. She smiled and kissed his head before returning to her seat. And he sat there in silence for a bit.

Despite most everyone's suggestions, he did not contact Jon while he was in Cairo, and often times he didn't even bring his phone places with him, preferring to focus on spending his limited time with his mother. There was also an added benefit of not constantly fretting over whether he should text Jon or not.

When he got back to Metropolis, he was very quickly thrown back into the hustle and bustle of living and working in a busy city, and it wasn't until the next Sunday that he saw Jon, and that was just because of his usual Sunday lunch with the Kent's. 

"Damian! Welcome!" 

Damian smiled at Lois as he walked through the door, taking off his shoes.

"How was Cairo?!" Lois asked cheerfully, coming over and hugging him.

"Cairo was good, mother sends her best, and another recipe for you."

"Oh my god what is it, the last recipe she gave me is absolute heaven!"

Damian chuckled, pulling off the small backpack he had brought and pulling out the small recipe card. Lois took it from him, scanning it over. 

"This sounds good!" 

"I can assure you, it is."

Lois just grinned. She was wearing jeans and a pretty, flowy shirt. "Anyway, come on in, the boys had to run out real fast, but they should be back soon. Or at least, they ran out an hour ago, so I assume they'll be back soon."

Damian chuckled, he was familiar with this.

He was not familiar with the butterflies in his stomach.

He sat with Lois for a while, telling her about Cairo, and about how Talia was, and how his week back had been. Then when conversation ran out, they sat in silence for a bit.

"It's eerie," Lois said randomly. "The house being quiet. We got so used to the silence, and then Jon came back, and there's always some kind of noise, his music, or talking, or a movie, or him and Kathy playing video games. There's always something happening."

"He's a very energetic person," Damian agreed softly, even as he was thinking about how dulled that all seemed now.

As if she read his mind, Lois looked over. "He was a very energetic person, yes. He's . . . Quieter, more reserved now."

Damian blinked at her. "Like he observes more than he talks."

"Exactly. God, Damian, I don't know what all he went through these past five years. He still hasn't opened up to us, but I know whatever it was, there was a lot of bad stuff."

Damian closed his eyes for a second. "I always wanted- always planned to protect him, keep him from ever having to experience even a shred of what I did."

"Damian," Lois admonished softly.

They both looked up as the door smacked closed.

"We're baccckkk!"

Damian looked up and felt a jolt of minor alarm.

Jon had cut his hair. Jon was wearing a mask. Jon was grinning and walking over to him.

"Dami!"

Damian allowed himself to be pulled up and hugged, though it was slightly awkward due to the stiffness of Jon's armor.

"Welcome back!" Jon exclaimed, flashing him a bright smile.

"Thank you, Jonathan."

"Alright, boys! Go change!"

Lois shooed them both towards the stairs, and then she and Damian went and set the table, silent, aside from the clacking of plates. He was focused on getting himself a drink, and nearly screamed when suddenly arms slipped around him. Okay so he just yelped a bit, and spilled a bit of water. The deep laugh in his ear told him exactly who it was.

“Jonathan!”

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist.”

“Get me a towel, jerk,” Damian huffed out, elbowing back at Jon, and then switching which hand his cup was in.

Jon pulled away, and Damian ignored the flutter in his chest as Jon squeezed his hip.

“What were you two up to?” Lois asked, glancing over from where she was finishing stirring the mashed potatoes.

“Oh, there was an apartment fire downtown, we got there and I worked on getting people out while Dad tried to get the fire under control. Police suspect arson because of how fast the fire spread,” Jon told her, walking over and kissing her cheek.

Jon’s hair had been cut short, leaving just some curls on top, while the sides had been brought in drastically, it looked soft and windblown and he was so handsome with the style. He had changed into a pair of jeans and a patterned button up, open over the top of a blue t-shirt.

“Oh, that’s interesting. There were a couple strings of arson a few months back, I wonder if it’s the same person?”

Jon shrugged, going and getting himself a glass and then heading to the fridge for sweet tea.

“I guess we’ll find out once the police report comes out.”

“You changed your costume?” Damian asked, having come to lean against the counter and listen to them talk. 

“Oh, yeah! I did. I’m not sure what I’m going to go as yet, but I figured jeans and a sweatshirt didn’t exactly work anymore, and my other uniform with the league had been Superman, not Superboy. So I’m working on it.”

Damian nodded, humming thoughtfully. He had liked the uniform, it had been charcoal gray with hints of blue and yellow.

“You’ll have to let me know when you come up with a name.”

“Of course!”

Sitting down at lunch, Damian got to retell his stories from Cairo, and explain to Jon his current relationship with Talia. Then he sat there and listened as Jon told him what he had been up to, how he was working on getting a job until he could figure out what he wanted to do with the rest of his life. Damian couldn’t get over it. Every time he was with Jon, he could barely take his eyes off the younger man. He was real and here and alive, and it made Damian smile.

After lunch, he volunteered to clean up, and Jon immediately jumped up to help him. Lois had long since given up trying to stop him from helping, after all, he already spent so much time at their house, he was practically family.

“So when did you get permission to start vigilante work again?”

“While you were gone. There was this big crisis that needed both Dad and I, so I went, and I’ve just kept helping since then.”

Damian hummed, glancing over at him. Jon was scrubbing viciously at a pot that was half full of soapy water. There was this pause of silence.

“Hey, do you wanna hang out this week? Like, as us, I mean, not as vigilantes,” Jon asked randomly, pausing and looking up at him.

Damian smiled. “I would love that.”

Jon grinned widely at him. “Great.”

And then they just sat there looking at each other, Jon’s smile slipping into something a little softer, more tender.

“What happened, while you were gone?” Damian asked quietly. 

Jon’s smile disappeared, and he looked away, back down at his pan.

“I’m not ready to talk about it.”

“Jon, you might not be ready, but you _need_ to tell someone,” he said softly, setting his hand on Jon’s shoulder.

“I do. I talk with Kathy.”

Damian nodded, offering a reassuring smile. “Good. That’s good then.”

“Yeah, anyway, you and your mom? When did that happen?”

“She left the league the year I moved to Metropolis, and we’ve been visiting twice a year, ever since then.”

“Oh, is she . . . less stabby then?”

Damian snorted. “She’s much better now, yes.”

“Good, I’m glad!”

A pause happened here, and Damian was quick to fill it in.

“You’re deflecting, by the way.”

Jon sighed, shoulders slumping. “I know. Just . . . When I’m ready for you to know, I’ll tell you. There was a lot that happened, and as I’m talking with Kathy I’m realizing that a lot of it was bad, so just . . . bear with me okay?”

Damian smiled and nodded again. “I’ll be there when you need me.”  
  


* * *

  
  


That Thursday, when Damian got home from work, Dick was in his house. This wasn’t much of a surprise, both Dick and Bruce knew the code for the backdoor, and Damian was rather used to him dropping by unannounced. He was sitting at the kitchen table, sipping coffee and looking contemplative. 

“So who died?” Damian joked as he walked in and shut the door behind him.

“That’s not funny, Damian.”

“It’s perfectly hilarious and you know it.”

Dick was rolling his eyes, and Damian chuckled a bit, setting his bag on the kitchen counter, as well as his keys, before walking over and hugging Dick.

“It’s good to see you, chickadee.”

Damian rolled his eyes at the nickname, but stepped back and pulled out the chair next to Dick. 

“And you. How’s Wally and Alex?”

“Good, good. We got the adoption papers finally, but you already knew that.”

Damian chuckled. “Yes, I did. Congratulations, I know she’s excited.”

“I’m not sure who’s more excited, her or Wally.”

“Understandable. So what brings you to Metropolis?”

“I needed to talk to you,” Dick said, face shifting from a fond smile to a more serious look.

“I assumed.”

“And this is serious, please.”

Damian nodded, meeting his brother's eyes.

“Damian, as I enter this new stage of life, being married, having a kid now. . . I’ve had a few realizations.”

“Okay?”

“I can’t be like Bruce, Damian. I never could and we all knew that. I couldn’t be Batman, I couldn’t be a parent figure to you, I can’t raise kids and still go out every night risking my life.”

“Dick, wait-”

Dick didn’t let him speak. “I’m going to retire from Nightwing. I want to be home, I want to work a normal, civilian job, I want to support my husband and daughter, I want them to know, every day when they go to bed, that I’m home, that I’m safe, that they won’t have to wake up in the middle of the night to pull my bleeding body into the hospital. I want to be happy and normal, Damian.”

Damian’s eyes were wide and he was dumbfounded. Of all the people in his life, he had never expected Dick to be the one to step down. Dick loved Nightwing, he always had. Which means he must love Wally and Alex so much more. 

“And I’ve done some thinking. I know you’ve given up the Batman mantle, I know Cass is going to take it when Bruce retires. And I wanted to ask you to take up Nightwing instead.”

“Dick, no, I can’t-”

“Damian,” Dick interrupted, reaching out to grab his younger brother's hand.

“I don’t deserve it.”

“You deserve it more than anyone I know.”

“What about Drake?”

“I asked, he’s content with Red Robin.”

“Todd?”

“Not his style.”

Damian’s heart was pounding. This was so much responsibility. Nightwing was . . . he was light and hope, he was a pillar of safety to so many heroes, so many people trusted him and went to him for help. He was so much more _good_ then Damian could ever even hope to be, not with all his sins. He could never atone for those enough to deserve Nightwing.

“But. . . It’s not mine to take. You should be offering it to Jon, or Conner.”

“I talked to them, and I talked to Clark too, and they all agree. You deserve this.”

“No, I don’t,” Damian whispered out. “Dick, I’ve done so many horrible things.”

“We all have, Damian. Bruce has killed, has tried to kill so many people. I’ve killed and permanently hurt people, I’ve made mistakes, you know as well as anyone Jason and Tim aren’t perfect, neither are any of the girls. But think about it, Damian. If Cass deserves the Batman name, even with her messy past, why don’t you?”

“Because she wasn’t _proud_ of it.”

He was, he had gloated, crowed about it, about his victories in battle and how he could take on any opponent. He had _celebrated_ killing.

“Damian, that was over ten years ago. You need to _let it go_. You’ve more than made up for that now.”

Damian just shook his head, not meeting Dick’s eyes. Dick stood and moved over, crouching next to his chair.

“Hey, listen to me. I’m not going to make you take this from me. But if you want it, it’s there. If you want to keep being Blackbird, then I’d be happy for you! But I would absolutely honored to have someone like you carry on the name for the next few years.”

Damian looked down, and Dick grinned up at him, reaching up to tweak his nose. 

“I’ll think about it,” Damian murmured softly. 

“Good. Now, do you want to go get dinner?”

Damian spent the whole next day thinking about it. Any time he wasn’t busy working, it was on his mind. And he couldn’t make a decision. He wanted to say yes, he wanted to carry on his brother’s legacy, as well as Krypton’s history, for Jon and Clark. But at the same time, he still didn’t feel like he truly deserved it. Blackbird was an easy role for him to fill, no one was expecting anything of him, there was no history to adhere to, he could just do what he needed to in order to get the job done.

Saturday, he was going out with Jon. They were going to get lunch and then just hang out that afternoon, and he was a mess of nerves. Nerves about spending a whole afternoon with Jon, and nerves about Dick’s proposal. 

It was useless denying it anymore. Damian still had a crush on Jon, and he wasn’t sure how to deal with it. 

He had known he’d never truly fallen out of love with his best friend, even during his death, if anything, he’d allowed himself to slip more into it. And now, being around this handsome, older Jon, he had just fallen deeper into it.

“Knock knock?”

“Oh! Jon come in!”

Damian jolted from where he had been standing in the middle of the living room, staring at a stain on the rug. He stepped around the stairwell wall so he could see into the kitchen where Jon was coming in through the back door.

“Oh! Hey, I wasn’t sure if you were still getting ready or not, i guess I probably could have called.”

Damian laughed softly, gesturing down at his chinos and linen shirt. “I’m ready.”

“I see that now.”

Damian walked over, stepping in and hugging him. “It’s good to see you.”

“Yeah!”

Damian got his keys, then they walked out, getting in his car, and driving further into town to the restaurant they had agreed on. Lunch was nice and quiet, just the two of them, talking softly, laughing together, stealing glances and smiles all afternoon.

"So Dick dropped by this week," Damian said, poking at the last few bites of his salad.

"Yeah?" Jon prompted glancing up at him.

"He wants me to become Nightwing."

Jon smiled, shooting him a knowing look.

"So you did know!"

"Maybe a bit."

Damian scowled at him, and Jon just laughed.

"What did you say?"

"I didn't give an answer, I needed to think about it."

Jon set down his fork, intertwining his fingers and looking at Damian, just staring straight at him, almost unblinkingly.

"You're doubting yourself," he guessed. "You think you don't deserve it."

Damian's scowl was answer enough, and Jon just started laughing, shaking his head.

"Damian, you dumbass, you deserve it more than anyone I know, and I know a lot of people in the Legion."

"Was there a Nightwing there?"

Jon's smile instantly dropped, he glanced away.

"No. . . I'm not really sure what happens to you bats. Or, rather, happened. My return is gonna make things a little bit messy."

Damian nodded, this made sense.

"Do you know the lore of Nightwing?" Damian asked, setting down his fork and instead wiping his mouth. "I don't think I should take the name of a Kryptonian legend without knowing it's story."

Jon winced, glancing back down at his plate.

"Yeah I know it."

"Is it bad?"

"Not entirely." Jon took a breath, then looked back up. "Nightwing is one of the Kryptonians deities, they are the mate of Flamebird, a deity tasked with destroying all that her brother, Vohc-The-Builder made, so that he would keep building and keep working. Vohc basically set Nightwing and Flamebird up, and the two fell in love, destined to find each other and fall in love in every cycle."

"What's the bad then?"

"After Nightwing and Flamebird fall in love, Vohc wanted to show how much he loved and appreciated Nightwing, so he built a great monument to him. Flamebird, in order to be obedient to Rao, destroyed it. Vohc had begged her to spare it, but she didn't listen, and this greatly changed him. He actually changed names to Vohc-The-Breaker, like some emo teen," Jon paused to laugh a bit here. "Anyways, because of what happened with Vohc, legend has it that every cycle, Nightwing and Flamebird are destined to be betrayed and killed by a friend."

Damian blinked at him. That was quite the story, and not one he'd ever heard before. Dick had never told him that last half.

"Yeah," Jon said with a smile and a shrug. "It's a lot more heart jerking to read the actual story. I cried. The story itself is a beautiful tale about hope and love and soulmates."

Damian nodded absently, because now his mind was spinning its own story.

"Anyways, come on! Let's go, we can't spend all day in a restaurant."

Damian obliged him, getting up, paying for the bill, leading him back out to the car. They ended up going to the Park and walking around for a while, but Damian couldn't help but be distracted.

Nightwing and Flamebird… Destined to be together.

"Damian!!!" Jon all but screeched, grabbing his arm at the bicep with one hand, and gripping his hand tightly with the other.

Damian winced away, then looked up at him.

"What?" He asked, eyebrow raised.

Jon pointed out the smallest puppy Damian had ever seen, and he let out a low coo. They stood there for a second and watched the puppy wrestle with a stick twice his size. Then they continued walking and Jon didn't let go of his hand. Damian didn't pull it away either.

They had made it back to Damian's car, and he was having this spike of disappointment as he realized Jon would likely leave soon. He didn't want Jon to leave.

"Do you wanna come back to my house and watch a movie or something?" Damian asked quickly, pulling Jon's attention over. "Or do you have to leave?"

A smile cracked over Jon's face and he squeezed Damian's hand.

"A movie sounds great."

Damian squeezed Jon's hand once more before letting go and pulling out his keys, walking around to the drivers side. The drive back to his house was quiet, and Damian was too focused on trying to keep his heart rate down to break the silence. 

"What movie are we gonna watch?" Jon asked as he walked in the door, immediately getting rushed by Damian's dogs.

Damian hummed softly, going to the fridge to refill his water bottle. He stayed quiet, trying to think of what movies they had watched as kids.

“What about Mission Impossible?”

Jon grinned wide and nodded. “Amazing. Wait have they come out with any new ones?!”

“Since . . . they’ve made two, Mission Impossible: Rogue Nation and Mission Imposible: Fallout.”

“Oh my god, I’m gonna have to binge them!”

“We have to start from the beginning,” Damian scolded, heading towards the living room.

“Of course!”

So they got their movie supplies, and spent the whole evening watching the first few Mission Impossible movies, complete with harsh commentary, and theatrical reenactments of scenes. They were both in stitches for half the evening. It wasn’t until the end of the third one, that Damian realized how late it was. He should have been on patrol by now.

But looking over at Jon, as he typed away at his phone, probably telling his parents he was okay, Damian couldn’t bring himself to be upset. 

Silence settled over the room, comforting and warm after the full noises of action movies and their laughter. And Damian just sat there, looking at Jon.

_“Destined to find each other and fall in love in every cycle.”_

Jon’s words rang in his ears, and Damian couldn’t stop himself from hoping. He knew how to read people, he had been trained to do so from birth. He knew the signs of infatuation, and he wasn’t blind, he had seen those telltale signs in Jon. He had seen them in himself. They were obvious in the unprompted smiles, in how they sought each other out for conversation, in the desire for physical contact; the little arm touches, and hugs, and standing with their shoulders pressed together, and holding hands in the park. Damian wasn’t blind, but he wasn’t foolish either.

But god did he hope.

Heart pounding, he sat up and turned to face Jon properly. The younger man raised an eyebrow, glancing over at Damian.

“What’s up?”

“Jon.”

Damian must have looked serious enough, because Jon set his phone down and turned to face him. Damian took a deep breath, then reached out and grabbed Jon’s hands.

“If I decide to take up Richard’s title,” Damian started, then hesitated. This wasn’t a good idea. Jon would say no.

“Ask me,” Jon reassured, squeezing his hands. A small smile was already growing on his lips.

“If I become Nightwing, will you be at my side? Will you be my Flamebird?” Damian forced out, forced himself to say it before he changed his mind.

“Of course I will,” Jon instantly answered. 

And then he did something Damian didn’t expect. He leaned in, pulling one of his hands from Damian’s, and resting it against his cheek. Then he gently kissed Damian. Damian gave a soft gasp, eyes going wide, in complete contrast with Jon’s, which were squeezed shut. Damian didn’t react, completely frozen, other than squeezing Jon’s hand tighter.

Jon pulled away, opening his eyes and meeting Damian’s. 

“Was that okay?” he asked softly, thumb stroking over his cheekbone. 

“Uh-huh,” Damian whispered, just as softly. 

They looked at each other, that soft silence falling over them again. Unsure what else to do or say, Damian just leaned in and kissed Jon again. He could feel Jon smile against his lips, and butterflies took flight in his stomach.

_I love him, I love him, I love him._

His body thrummed with the thought, with the feeling, warmth spreading through him as it became obvious that Jon had feelings for him too. Jon liked him too.  
  
  


“It looks good on you, Chickadee.”

Damian looked up from the sleek lines of his new uniform to Dick, stood in front of him, a huge grin plastered on his face.

“It’s like wearing baba’s trench coat,” he said, knowing Dick would understand the analogy.

“You’ll grow into it,” Dick reassured, reaching out and squeezing Damian’s shoulder.

With a sigh, Damian turned to look at himself in the nearby mirror. The uniform wasn’t quite a duplicate of Dick’s. It wasn’t like they could just wear the same uniform, Damian was built differently then his older brother, and since he’d have to get a new one, he decided to redesign it a bit, stronger armor, more maneuverability, a belt for storage, better support in the boots. He had also changed up the colors a bit. 

The body suit was more of a charcoal gray now, with a black triangle on the chest, surrounding and filling the space around the blue Nightwing symbol. The blue was also dark, more muted, but a little larger than Dick had it. He had also kept the escrima sticks, which magnetized onto a section of the armor on his back. Another change had been the addition of an attached hood, gray like the rest of the suit, with the exception of the hem of the hood, which was a matching blue with the symbol on his chest.

“Come on, you better get out there, We’d hate to keep your Flamebird waiting long,” Dick said with a wink, passing Damian’s mask over.

“Shut up,” Damian muttered, face flushing dark. 

He regretted ever telling Dick about the kiss. 

Not really. His heart was still soaring in the clouds, and he grinned like a fool every time he thought of it.

“Oh you know you’re not mad.”

“I hate you.”

He smacked at Dick at the same time he took the mask, pressing it over his eyes, blinking a few times until the domino lens adjusted. Then he looked at Dick, feeling a little nervous.

“God, Little D! You look so good!” Dick exclaimed, hugging him. “You’re going to do so good as Nightwing.”

Damian huffed a bit, putting on some bravado for show. “Of course I will."

Cockiness is a good way to hide how nervous he really was, right?

Dick chuckled, reaching up and ruffling his head. “Of course. Now go. I’ll lock up.”

Damian nodded, and turned, walking out the door and to his bike, getting on and revving it up. Then he tore off into town, zipping through the streets and taking back alleys to get to the meeting point he and Jon had agreed on. He shut off the bike, leaving it in the alley, and then grappling up to the roof above. He had no sooner pulled himself up, then a voice spoke.

“Well look at you."

Damian stood and turned to find Jon leaning against the roof access door, and Damian couldn’t fight down the grin.

“Hey,” Jon greeted, straightening to his full height.

He began to walk over, and Damian was able to get a good look at him. His uniform was an off white, save for the large fiery orange phoenix displayed on his chest, and matching orange boots. He too had a belt, similar to Damian’s except in color, and his mask was orange as well.

He looked amazing, and Damian could help the catch in his throat, just looking at him.

“I like the suit,” he said softly, tilting his head up just slightly as Jon stopped right in front of him.

“And I like yours.” Jon reached up, gently touching the blue on his chest.

They smiled at each other

“Nightwing and Flamebird,” Damian said softly, grabbing Jon’s gloved hand.

“Destined to find each other and fall in love,” Jon continued softly.

Damian didn’t bother with completing the lore, just stepped in and kissed Jon softly, Jon's free hand sliding into his hair under the raised hood.

Four years ago he had lost his best friend, had held his dying body, he had thought he’d never get a future with Jon. But here he was, wrapped in Jon’s arms, pressed closer than ever, knowing that he once again had that opportunity at a life with Jon. And he’d take it without question.

_Forever after, you will be my home  
_ _And there's no place like home._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fin!!!!!!!
> 
> Also maybe I'm weird but I actually really like the song Dearly Departed. It may not fit this song perfectly, but it's such a pretty song and some of the lyrics are just perfect. 
> 
> Anyways, thanks again for reading! And I hope to see you all around!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Kudos and Comments are always appreciated!
> 
> Thank you so much to Postwick for Betaing for me! Check them out on tumblr and Instagram @nodeviils
> 
> Come check me out on tumblr @queerbutstillhere and @queerbutstillhere-writes !!!


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